WITH  THIRTY 'TWO  WOOD 
I'.rJ  G  U  AVI  WO  f [0/;  FRANS  WASP  REAL, 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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.  /; 

https://archive.org/details/liluliOOroll 


L  I  L  U  L  I 


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MMAIN  ROILILANP 

uuju 

WITH  THIRTY-TWO  WOOD 
ENGRAVINGS  BY  FRANS  MASEREEL 


i 


wmm 


€.  LIVERIGHT 

NEW  YORK 


Copyright,  1920,  by 

BONI  &  LIVERIGHT,  INC. 


First  Edition . May,  1920 

Second  Edition . August,  1920 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


Brugnon,  you  rascal,  you’re 
laughing !  Aren’t  you  ashamed  ? 

What’d  you  have,  my  friend, 
I  am  what  I  am.  Laughter 
does  not  prevent  me  from 
suffering;  but  to  suffer  will 
never  prevent  a  real  French¬ 
man  from  laughing.  And 
whether  he  laugh  or  shed  tears 
— first  of  all  he’s  got  to  see! 

Long  life  to  J anus  Two-face 
with  his  ever-open  eyes!  .  .  . 

Colas  Brugnon. 


I 


V 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE 

LILULI,  ILLUSION — fair-haired,  slim,  small — big  blue 
eyes,  candid  and  sly;  slender,  girlish  arms,  a  smiling 
mouth  that  shows  her  little  teeth;  a  musical  voice,  the 
sound  of  which  has  power  to  stir  the  soul.  She  glides 
rather  than  walks;  she  seems  to  float  in  the  air.  She 
wears  a  fanciful  Botticelli  dress  of  periwinkle  blue, 
trimmed  with  a  wreath  of  green  and  golden  leaves. 

CHIRRIDI  [CHIRRIDICHIQUILLA,  that  is  to  say:  Lit¬ 
tle  Swallow- voice] .  TRUTH — a  dark  gypsy  type,  with 
flaming  eyes,  supple,  quick,  violent — knows  how  to  wield 
both  tongue  and  knife.  Harlequin  costume,  with  a  big 
black  scarf,  which,  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  falls  in  two 
points  like  the  closed  wings  of  a  swallow. 

THE  GODDESS  LLOPTH  [OPINION]— A  dumb  part. 
Hallucinating  apparition  of  a  barbarous  and  Hindoo  idol, 
at  once  coarse  and  sumptuous — black  and  gold — copper 
face. 

THE  BEAST  [of  Diirer]  her  escort.  Dumb  part.  Cathe¬ 
dral  devil.  Color  of  an  old  gargoyle,  black  and  mossy. 

MASTER-GOD — handsome,  majestic  and  dandified  old 
man ;  long  white  beard  with  patches  once  fair,  now  turned 
green ;  slightly  Levantine  accent ;  noble  gestures  which  rt- 


vu 


lapse  into  vulgarity  when  he  is  off  his  guard;  the  gravity 
of  his  speeches  retains  a  certain  odor  of  the  suburbs. 

POLICHINELLO — well-known;  big,  badly  trained  old  dog, 
goes  poking  his  nose  into  everything,  lifts  his  leg  on 
everything;  always  in  good  temper.  Worn-out  maroon 
costume,  braided  with  silver,  with  little  bells. 

ALTAIR — a  beautiful  Italian  Renaissance  youth,  Perugino 
or  young  Raphael  type,  with  floating  blond  hair  [eighteen 
years]. 

ANTARES' — his  friend,  same  age,  same  style. 

JANOT,  THE  DONKEY-DRIVER— typical  peasant  of 
central  France  in  a  blue  biaude  [smock]  wide  and  long 
as  a  night-shirt;  greasy  black  felt  hat  glued  to  his  head. 

HANSOT — Typical  Baden  peasant.  Janot  is  thin  and  burnt 
as  a  vine-stalk.  Hansot  is  round  and  blond  as  a  pat  of 
butter. 

POLONIUS — he  belongs  to  all  the  Academies  and  Palaces 
of  Peace,  wears  a  court-dress  sword,  is  decorated  and  be- 
ordered  from  head  to  tail. 

THE  GRAND  KHAN. 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH. 

OLD  PHILEMON. 

GUILLOT  THE  DREAMER. 

ARGUS  SANTEUIL. 

TWO  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS  [Trafalgar  Square 
style]. 

BURIDAN  THE  ASS. 


VUl 


CHORUS  OF  YOUNG  MEN  AND  MAIDENS. 
CHORUS  OF  CHILDREN  [and  their  PEDAGOGUES]. 
CHORUS  OF  INTELLECTUALS. 

THE  FETTERED  BRAINS  [and  their  NEGRO]. 

THE  FAT  MEN. 

THE  THIN  MEN. 

THE  DIPLOMATS. 

THE  WORKERS  [two  half  choruses]. 

GUARDS. 

SHOPKEEPERS  or  PEDDLERS. 

CROWD  OF  GALLIPOULETS. 

CROWD  OF  HURLUBERLOCHES. 

Dumb  pageants  [or  perhaps  it  would  be  truer  to  call  them 
inarticulate]— LIBERTY,  EQUALITY,  FRATER¬ 
NITY;  THE  HEADLESS  MAN,  LOVE  AND  REA¬ 
SON. 

Pageant  of  ARMED  PEACE. 

Pageant  of  TRUTH  [Bussolanti,  Journalists,  etc.]. 
Pageant  of  OPINION  [Satyrs,  Apes,  Cossacks,  etc.]. 


Time  and  place  being  fanciful,  the  dresses  should  be 
equally  fantastic.  The  freest  variety.  Every  figure  should 
wear  the  costume  of  the  epoch  which  best  corresponds  with 
his  character — but  freely  interpreted,  so  that  the  whole  may 
produce  a  gay  and  brilliant  harmony. 

ix 


A  smiling  plateau,  grass-grown  and  shady,  on  the  slope 
of  a  mountain  that  overlooks,  to  the  right,  a  vast  landscape 
of  plain. 

The  stage  is  divided  in  two,  from  back  to  front,  by  a  nar¬ 
row  ravine,  spanned  by  a  rickety  foot-bridge. 

In  the  foreground  a  road,  which,  after  having  followed 
the  footlights  for  a  little  to  the  right,  winds  inward  toward 
the  ravine,  mounts  again  to  the  left,  and  only  reappears  at 
a  terraced  bend  above  the  stage  before  it  finally  vanishes. 
A  second  road  also  comes  up  from  the  right  and  joins  the 
first  in  front  of  the  foot-bridge.  In  the  background  a  third 
road  mounts  from  the  back  of  the  stage  on  the  right,  comes 
out  on  the  brink  of  the  ravine,  and  crosses  the  foot-bridge 
to  join  the  road  in  the  foreground. 

Big  rocks  overhang  the  stage  on  the  left  and  at  the  back. 

NOTE — The  stage  must  have  considerable  depth  in  order 
that  the  two  crowds  may  face  one  another  on  either  side  of 
the  ravine  in  the  second  part  of  the  play. 

The  back  of  the  stage  is,  of  course,  considerably  raised 
so  that  the  audience  may  lose  no  detail  of  the  scene. 


z 


Enter  from  the  right,  by  the  road  which  comes  up  on 
the  fore-scene  from  the  valley  below,  a  crowd  laden  with 
furniture  and  every  kind  of  familiar  or  curious  household 
object.  Some  push  or  pull  hand-carts;  others  are  pulled 
along  by  little  donkeys.  They  are  more  noisy  than  efficient 
and  make  but  slow  progress,  though  they  look  as  if  they 
were  in  a  great  hurry;  for  they  turn  back  at  every  moment, 
either  to  pick  up  one  of  their  innumerable  and  absurd  par¬ 
cels  which  they  have  dropped,  or  to  argue  with  their  neigh¬ 
bor,  give  him  a  helping  hand,  or,  preferably,  a  piece  of  ad¬ 
vice,  playing  the  fly  on  the  wheel.  Most  of  them,  having 
reached  the  plateau  which  constitutes  the  stage,  halt  to  take 
breath  and  mop  their  faces.  Then  they  resume  their  ascent. 
The  procession  is  almost  uninterrupted  during  the  first  part 
of  the  play,  but  it  must  not  interfere  with  the  action. 

The  principal  actors,  Polichinello,  Janot,  Liluli,  Altair, 
Master-God,  etc.,  when  they  speak,  will  take  their  places  in 
the  field  which  occupies  three-quarters  of  the  left  fore¬ 
ground,  which  is  higher  than  the  road,  without,  however, 
hiding  the  ravine  and  the  plateau  on  the  opposite  side. 


CHORUS  OF  YOUNG  MEN  AND  MAIDENS 

What  a  lovely  morning!  Spring  laughs  for  joy. 
The  blue  sky  is  pure,  intense  and  hard;  it  shines  be¬ 
tween  the  lovely  bare  branches  of  the  trees.  Under 
their  arms  the  sun  kisses  their  russet  autumnal  fleece. 
The  golden  carpet  of  dead  leaves  is  pierced  by  violets. 
How  cool,  sweet  and  young  the  new  air,  like  a  straw- 

1 


berry  on  the  tongue!  Boys,  girls,  how  good  it  is  to 
walk  together,  straight  ahead,  without  another  thought 
of  the  old  barracks  we  had  to  leave,  the  shaky  walls 
of  the  old  antiquated  city,  thing  of  the  past!  •  •  • 
Blessed  be  the  flood  that  forced  our  old  people  to 
leave  it  all,  extracted  the  incrusted  from  their  shells 
and  now  constrains  them  to  tread  reluctant  the  j  oyous 
road  that  mounts,  ay,  and  follows  us  toward  the  fu¬ 
ture! 

LILULI,  ILLUSION.  She  appears  at 
the  moment  at  the  terraced 
turn  of  the  road  on  the  left, 
overlooking  the  stage.  She 
sings  like  a  bird; 

Lai'ra-ira-ira !  .  .  . 

La'irette!  Lai'rette!  .  .  • 
Fara-diddle-dino, 

The  future’s  very  fine-o! 

She  disappears. 

THE  YOUNG  MEN  AND  MAIDENS  drinking 
in  the  apparition  with  eyes 
and  lips,  their  arms  uplifted 
toward  it. 

Did  you  see  it?  The  bird !  The  little  warbler  that 
guides  our  way?  Illusion!  Liluli!  .  .  .  Wait  for  us, 
wait! 

They  run.  They  bump  into 
Polichinello,  coming  back  down 
the  road  with  his  strutting, 
jerky  walk. 

2 


POLICHINELLO 

Woa,  woa,  my  little  lads !  Let's  not  lose  our  heads ! 
Hold  up,  colts  and  fillies.  Walk,  walk!  Why  run? 
Are  you  afraid  that  someone  may  steal  your  moon, 
your  brand  new  moon,  swinging  afloat  on  her  thread 
of  air  and  waiting  for  you  to  catch  her  there  in  your 
mouths?  Look  you  there  how  she  bends  her  bow  on 
the  summits  whereto  you're  going ! 

THE  YOUNG  PEOPLE  in  ecstasy  before 
the  mountain  peak. 

Where  we  are  going?  Is  it  there,  Polichinello,  is 
it  there?  On  those  heights  that  sparkle  bright? 

POLICHINELLO 

You’ll  be  there  before  the  dusk. 

THE  YOUNG  PEOPLE 

Before  this  eve !  And  shall  we  see,  above  the  prison 
wall,  free  space  for  all  and  the  horizon  and  the 
dreamed-of-land — the  Hesperides,  Atlantis,  Canaan? 

POLICHINELLO 

Ah  well,  I  will  not  say  you’ve  all  of  that  to-day. 
The  Promised  Land,  my  Benjamins,  is  always  for 
next  day. 

THE  YOUNG  PEOPLE 

Tb-morrow !  to-morrow !  ...  We  shall  be  there  be¬ 
fore  the  others.  Come,  let’s  run.  And  you? — are 
you  coming?  .  .  .  Are  you  going  back? 

S 


POLICHINELLO 

I  act  the  sheep-dog.  Back  and  forth  from  one  end 
of  the  flock  to  the  other  I  run.  I  round  up  the  lag¬ 
gards.  I  bark  at  the  old  fellows.  I  bite  the  rumps 
of  the  young  rams.  And  I  maul  the  little  ewe  lambs. 

He  suits  his  action  to  his 
words. 

A  GIRL  whom  he  has  given  a 
pinch  and  who  boxes  his  ears. 

Ow !  Ow !  He’s  bit  me ! 

The  Young  Men  and  Maidens 
pursue  their  way. 

POLICHINELLO  already  occupied  in 
questioning  an  old  couple. 

Hie !  Philemon !  Hie !  old  dad !  So,  you’ve  come 
out  here  to  see  the  country? 

THE  OLD  MAN,  sadly  pointing  to¬ 
ward  the  valley  whence  he 
has  come. 

My  country?  That’s  down  there! 

POLICHINELLO 

One’s  country  is  here  and  there.  A  country  is  the 
people  who  live  in  it. 

THE  OLD  MAN 

My  heart  still  lives  there. 

He  points  to  the  valley. 

POLICHINELLO 

But  here  now  are  your  rheumatics.  Come  along 
and  warm  them  in  the  good  sunshine,  this  air  steeped 
in  resinous  smells. 


4 


THE  OLD  MAN 

Ah,  nothing  can  come  up  to  my  dark  comer  by  the 
old  stinking  stove. 

POLICHINELLO  bursting  out  laugh¬ 
ing. 

Every  man  regrets  his  own  dunghill. 

A  MAN  pulling  a  hand  barrow. 
I’m  taking  mine  with  me. 

POLICHINELLO  to  the  crowd  that 
passes  loaded  with  luggage. 

Gently,  now  gently!  Take  a  moment’s  breath. 
What  greyhounds!  Fairly  streaming  with  sweat! 
’Ware  the  flood !  You  flee  from  it  out  the  valley  and 
bring  it  along  with  you  in  your  basket  on  the  hills. 
.  .  .  You’ll  burst,  my  friend.  Your  eyes  are  popping 
out  of  your  head,  like  a  crayfish — quick-stew  with 
spices.  Take  breath,  take  breath!  The  air  belongs 
to  everyone.  Look  at  this  landscape  now !  Isn’t  it 
pretty?  Isn’t  it  well  painted?  You  can  touch  it. 
The  colors  are  fast. 

THE  CROWD 

Forward!  March!  No  time  to  look.  .  .  .  They 
say  the  folk  of  the  other  village  are  coming  up  too. 
.  .  .  We’ve  got  to  be  the  first. 

POLICHINELLO 
The  world’s  a  large  place. 

THE  CROWD 
They’ll  go  and  take  it  all. 

5 


POLICHINELLO 

There’s  room  for  two  at  least. 

THE  CROWD 

For  us  first.  .  .  .  Afterwards  for  them.  .  .  .  For¬ 
ward  !  Forward !  We  mustn’t  stop.  .  .  .  Lord ! 
how  heavy  it  is !  I  shall  split.  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

And  that’ll  bring  you  a  great  way  forwarder! 

THE  CROWD 

What  a  plague!  I’m  always  the  one  to  suffer.  My 
load  is  the  heaviest.  Look  at  that  fellow!  He’s  only 
got  half  of  mine. 

POLICHINELLO 

Would  you  like  to  change? 

THE  CROWD 

Idiot!  .  .  .  Why  not,  you  with  your  hump?  Do 
you  think  that  I’d  give  him  my  goods  and  chattels  for 
love  ? 

POLICHINELLO 

Then  don’t  complain ! 

THE  CROWD 

I  will  complain  if  I  like.  Complaining  and  whin¬ 
ing,  without  the  least  desire  to  make  things  better, 
envying  one’s  neighbor’s  lot,  without  the  least  desire 
to  change  one’s  own — these  are  what  help  one  to  sup¬ 
port  life.  .  .  .  What  a  wash!  If  only  one  could 
keep  it  up ! 

They  pass  off. 

6 


A  BAND  OF  CHILDREN  surrounded  by 
their  schoolmasters  in  specta¬ 
cles,  with  crooks  and  little  lap- 
dogs  in  coats  on  the  leash; 
they  clap  their  hands. 

O,  the  flowers !  the  new  flowers !  The  green  liz¬ 
ards  !  The  yellow  round  eyes  of  the  primroses !  And 
that  bird  with  the  touch  of  red  in  his  hat.  Heh !  How 
the  little  one  whistles !  Peep,  peep,  peep.  .  .  . 

THE  SCHOOLMASTERS 

Will  you  please  keep  to  the  middle  of  the  road! 
In  line !  Eyes  down !  And  look  at  your  books ! 

THE  CHILDREN 

But  we  should  so  much  like  to  look  round  on  the 
road! 

THE  SCHOOLMASTERS 

Tlhat’s  unnecessary.  We  are  going  to  tell  you  about 
it.  Read:  "‘When  Hannibal  crossed  the  Alps.  .  . 

THE  CHILDREN 

But  what  about  us  ?  What  mountains  do  tve  pass  ? 

THE  SCHOOLMASTERS 

You  are  not  the  point.  Read:  “When  Hanni¬ 
bal  .  .  " 

THE  CHILDREN 

But  us !  but  us !  When  do  we  come  in? 

THE  SCHOOLMASTERS 

In  two  or  three  hundred  years.  Everything  in  due 
time. 


7 


A  LITTLE  GIRL  with  a  little  imper¬ 
tinent  snub  nose. 

When  we’re  all  dead  ? 


THE  CHILDREN  singing  to  the  tune 
of  “Malbrough.” 

“«  .  •  And  dead  and  underground.  .  .  .” 

THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  going  on  im¬ 
perturbably.  .  .  . 

And  dead  and  underground.  From  now  till  then, 
read,  read  “When  Hannibal  .  . 

THE  CHILDREN  singing. 

.  .  .  Nibal  went  out  a-fighting, 

Mironton  mironton  mirontainS, 

That  animal,  that  Hannibal 
Who  knows  when  he’ll  come  back? 

They  pass. 

8 


POLICHINELLO  to  a  grizzled  man, 
who  laughs  alone  as  he  walks 
and  seems  to  be  talking  to 
himself,  his  eyes  half  closed. 

Ho!  Guillot  the  Dreamer,  always  in  good  cheer? 
What  tale  are  you  telling  yourself? 

GUILLOT  THE  DREAMER 

I  am  describing  the  landscape  to  myself. 

POLICHINELLO 

But  you  don’t  look  at  it. 

GUILLOT 

I  see,  I  see.  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

With  your  eyes  stuck  in  the  dust? 

GUILLOT 

I  see  farther,  I  see  higher,  I  see  the  summit,  the 
light. 

POLICHINELLO 

You’d  do  better  to  see  first  of  all  what’s  round 
about  you. 

GUILLOT 

Where  I  am  doesn’t  interest  me.  But  where  I 
shall  be — perhaps. 

POLICHINELLO 

Or  where  perhaps  you  won’t  be.  In  that  case  you 
won’t  have  been  here  or  there.  They’ll  write  on  your 
tomb:  “Here  lies  Guillot  who  saw  nothing,  neither 
lived  at  all.” 


9 


GUILLOT 

I’m  in  such  a  hurry,  I  live  ahead  of  the  time. 

POLICHINELLO 

To  live  ahead  of  life,  my  friend,  is  to  be  already 
dead.  Thank  heaven,  I  go  slow. 

To  a  man  of  thirty-five  or 
forty  who  looks  at  him  and 
turns  on  everything  that  sur¬ 
rounds  him  a  pair  of  clear 
cold  eyes. 

And  what  are  you  thinking  about,  Argus  Santeuil? 

SANTEUIL 

I  am  looking  at  you,  looking  at  him;  I  see  every¬ 
thing,  these  men  and  those,  you  and  the  others;  they 
are  all  madmen.  And  I  see  the  landscape,  neither 
beautiful  nor  ugly,  just  as  it  is;  it  makes  me  neither 
hot  nor  cold,  sad  nor  gay.  I  never  lose  my  compass, 
never  dream ;  I  see,  I  see  the  sky,  the  clouds,  the  dust 
of  the  road  and  the  pebbles,  the  flowers,  the  dung. 
I  see  everything. 

POLICHINELLO 

But  you  don’t  live  any  the  more  for  that.  You  see 
life.  You  don’t  possess  it.  The  sole  wise  man  among 
fools  is  the  craziest  of  the  lot. 

Janot  the  Donkey-driver  ap¬ 
pears  on  Master  Buridan  his 
ass  at  the  corner  of  the  road, 
to  the  right. 

Ah!  There’s  my  Janot  the  Donkey-driver  and  his 
ass,  master  Buridan. 


10 


THE  ASS 

Hee-haw !  Hee-haw ! 

He  digs  himself  in  with  all 
four  hoofs  and  refuses  to  go 
a  step  further. 

POLICHINELLO 

One  carrying  the  other,  they  go  on,  on  .  .  .  they 
don’t  go  on  at  all.  .  .  . 

JANOT  gets  off,  lays  his  face  to 
the  donkey’s  cheek  and  speaks 
to  him  cordially,  trying  to 
persuade  him. 

Come  now,  brother,  one  step  more!  Hoof  it  still 
a  bit;  we’re  just  there.  Giddap,  my  boy!  But  it’s 
the  others  that  giddap.  They’re  passing  you.  You’re 
not  going  to  humiliate  me  before  the  passers-by,  are 
you,  my  Buridan?  Don’t  you  want  me  to  pull  you? 
Give  in,  now.  Come  along,  my  beauty.  .  .  .  [Suddenly, 
with  fury.]  Ah !  you  swine.  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

Man  proposes,  the  ass  disposes. 

JANOT 

And  why  not?  After  all,  if  it’s  his  idea.  .  .  .  His 
idea’s  as  good  as  another.  I’m  not  pig-headed.  [To 
the  ass.]  Have  you  looked  it  over,  made  up  your  mind? 
Once  .  .  .  twice  .  .  .  thrice.  .  .  .  Done!  Here  or 
there.  I  don’t  care  a  curse.  Let’s  stop. 

11 


POLICHINELLO 

Aren’t  you  ashamed  of  obeying  your  jackass? 

JANOT 

No  quarrels  in  the  family!  It’s  the  wisest  thing. 
[To  the  ass.]  Go  and  roll.  As  to  me,  I  install  myself 
here.  The  soil’s  rich.  The  position  is  excellent,  well 
protected.  Let’s  take  a  look  round.  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

What  are  you  going  to  do? 

JANOT 

Dig.  As  for  you,  don’t  you  come  in  here!  There, 
now,  this  is  my  field. 

POLICHINELLO 

The  brigand  loses  no  time. 

12 


JANOT 

“Janot  Close.”  “Buridan  Meadow.” 

He  stretches  a  rope. 

POLICHINELLO 

Are  you  staying  there?  They’re  leaving! 

He  points  to  the  passing  crowd. 

JANOT 

They’ll  come  back.  The  world  is  round.  They’ll 
come  back  in  the  long  run.  And  besides,  we  shall 
see.  .  .  .  By  the  time  they’ve  all  filed  past,  in  any 
case  we  shall  have  dug  up  this  little  slice. 

POLICHINELLO 

What  good  does  that  do  you,  if  you’re  to  leave  it? 

JANOT 

It's  not  for  my  sake;  it’s  for  hers. 

POLICHINELLO 

Whose  ?  Hers ! 

JANOT 

For  my  sweetheart.  [He  points  to  the  earth.]  Phew! 
It’s  too  much  for  me.  When  I  see  a  piece  of  ground, 
widow  or  virgin,  she  calls  me;  I  have  got  to  comfort 
her. 

POLICHINELLO 

You  old  wanton ! 

JANOT 

To  every  man  his  vice!  With  one  it’s  land,  with 
another  girls. 


13 


POLICHINELLO 

A  pleasant  time  to  you,  my  lad.  Work,  work  away; 
burst  yourself!  For  me — I  look  on.  Nothing’s  bet¬ 
ter  for  one’s  health  than  looking  on  while  others  work. 
The  shade  is  delicious.  Sweat  away,  good  people! 
Let’s  quaff  the  fine  weather  and  the  grimaces  of  the 
passers-by. 

He  sits  down  in  the  shade  on 
a  bank  overhanging  the  road.  Janot  digs;  the  ass  browses 
and  the  people  go  on  streaming  past.  In  the  distance,  be¬ 
hind  the  scenes,  the  sunlit  song  of  Liluli  is  audible.  .  .  . 

“Lai'ra,  ira-ira!  .  . 

Altair  rushes  in  on  the  stage. 
He  is  out  of  breath  from  having  run  uphill. 

ALTAIR 

Did  you  see  her  pass? 

POLICHINELLO 

Who,  my  lad? 

ALTAIR 

The  magical  bird. 

POLICHINELLO 

Liluli,  the  enchantress? 

ALTAIR 

Since  last  night  I  have  been  in  pursuit  of  her.  I 
hear  her  in  front  of  me  .  .  .  her  song  goes  hopping 
from  tree  to  tree.  At  the  bends  in  the  mounting  road, 
when  I  come  running  up,  I  see  her  fluttering  skirt 
disappearing  round  the  next  turn,  see  her  bare  heel 
fleeing.  I  came  near  to  catching  her,  but  by  stooping 

14 


an  instant  to  pick  up  her  silver  brooch  I  lost  her 
and  can  find  no  trace  of  her  more.  ,  .  .  Liluli! 

POLICHINELLO 

You  would  do  better  to  leave  her  alone.  The  fowler 
may  easily  be  caught  by  the  bird. 

ALTAI  R 

That’s  all  I  desire. 

POLICHINELLO 

In  that  case,  stay  right  here.  If  you  fly  from  her, 
•he  looks  for  you.  If  you  look  for  her,  she  flies  away. 

15 


ALTAIR 

Let  me  go !  Let  me  go !  Don’t  delay  me  any  more ! 

POLICHINELLO 

Fool!  Shut  your  mouth,  stay  quiet.  I’ll  warrant 
the  moment  she  doesn’t  hear  you  after  her,  she’ll  come 
back  to  find  you. 

ALTAIR 

Do  you  think  so? 

POLICHINELLO 

I’m  sure  I  can  see  her  sly  little  nose!  She’s  ther# 
on  the  watch. 

ALTAIR 

Where? 

POLICHINELLO 

Wherever  you  are.  Do  you  want  to  see  her  ap¬ 
pear?  Then  come,  let’s  speak  ill  of  her. 

ALTAIR 

Never,  never. 

POLICHINELLO  taking  him  by  the 
arm. 

Come  along,  open  your  eyes!  I  promise  you  a 
sight  that  is  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  your  in¬ 
sipid  little  goldy-locks. 

ALTAIR 

Who?  These  beggars,  this  jostling,  sweating 
crowd?  A  fine  sight  indeed! 

POLICHINELLO 

Are  you  jealous?  Like  you  they  are  running  after 
your  lady-love.  .  .  .  But  I  have  better  to  offer  you. 
Look!  Here  comes  the  pageant  of  Our  Lords. 

16 


ALTAIR 

The  Lords  of  what? 

POLICHINELLO 

My  Lords,  your  Lords,  those  that  lead  us. 

ALTAIR 

Nobody  leads  me.  I  am  a  free  citizen  of  a  free 
republic. 

POLICHINELLO 

Exactly.  The  names  of  those  who  are  passing  will 
not  be  unknown  to  you,  then.  But  as  to  their  faces 
I  bet  you  never  troubled  to  look  at  them.  Take  ad¬ 
vantage  of  the  opportunity.  I  will  show  you  your 
gods  au  naturel. 

The  procession  begins. 


ALTAI  R 

Who’s  that  headless  monster  who  comes  along  first, 
taking  great  strides? 

POLICHINELLO 

At  the  head  the  man  sans  head?  You  know  him,  my 
friend;  it’s  Life.  Look  at  his  chest,  like  to  a  fortress, 
the  pillars  of  his  thighs,  his  arms  swollen  with  sap 
like  the  great  limbs  of  a  tree.  ...  A  passing  water¬ 
spout  rushing  past.  A  torrent  of  breath  and  blood. 
Let  us  pant  and  march  and  strike!  And,  so  that 
nothing  bother  us,  let’s  imitate  him — off  with  our 
heads ! 

ALTAIR 

He  emits  a  whiff  like  a  menagerie  as  he  passes. 
Ugh!  a  smell  of  raw  meat  and  lions’  cages! 

POLICHINELLO 

How  well  you  act  the  disgusted !  Do  you  think  yon 
smell  of  ambrosia,  my  little  wild  beast, 

ALTAIR 

I  am  a  soul. 

POLICHINELLO 

A  beast  like  any  other.  Don’t  you  trust  her !  She 
has  teeth.  She  doesn’t  live  on  the  air  that  passes. 

ALTAIR 

I  know  the  one  with  the  bandaged  eyes  who’s  com¬ 
ing  now.  Through  his  bandage  I  long  to  kiss  his 

18 


hidden  light.  It  is  my  master.  He  is  Love.  O,  my 
beloved ! 

POLICHINELLO 

There's  your  schoolboy  who  has  never  looked  at 
life  save  in  books!  Wrong,  grossly  wrong!  Your 
portrait  of  Love  is  two  thousand  years  old.  It’s 
ceased  to  be  a  likeness.  That  blind  fellow  with  the 
frozen  features  your  eyes  devour  so  greedily,  isn’t 
love.  No,  my  friend,  it’s  Reason. 

ALTAIR 

What  say  you?  Reason?  .  .  .  Away  with  you! 
March!  I’ll  have  no  more  of  her.  .  .  .  Shameless 
creature!  By  what  right  has  she  stolen  from  Love 
his  bandage? 

POLICHINELLO 

The  bandage  comes  to  her  by  right.  She  distrusts 
her  eyes.  Since  they  might  prevent  her  from  follow¬ 
ing  her  logic,  she  shuts  them,  and  goes  on,  straight 
ahead,  without  flinching.  There!  bump!  against  that 
chestnut-tree!  Ow,  ow,  ow!  She  has  broken  her 
nose.  Her  calculations  were  quite  right,  ’twas  the 
tree  that  made  a  mistake.  What  does  that  matter? 
She  goes  on.  A  bit  of  her  dress  is  left  behind  on  the 
brambles.  But  that  people  should  see  her — well, 
her  skin,  doesn’t  alarm  her.  ...  Now  she’s  by  the 
stream!  She’s  like  the  mules,  she  walks  along  the 
very  brink.  But  how  will  she  manage  to  get  across 

19 


here?  Hold  up,  hold  up  there!  She  stumbles,  falls. 
.  .  .  No,  she’s  got  across.  But  those  who  follow  our 
tight-rope  dancer  are  not  so  lucky;  they  get  a  duck¬ 
ing.  But  that  won’t  cool  their  enthusiasm.  Forward, 
my  lads !  Straight  ahead,  always  straight  ahead ! 
Ah,  it’s  a  fine  thing,  the  straight  line !  Besotted  ones ! 
Long  live  my  hunch! 

ALTAIR 

What’s  this  fellow  doing,  staring  at  me  and  chuck¬ 
ling?  Will  you  please  clear  out?  Fool! 

POLICHINELLO 

Well  done !  That  one  you’re  snapping  at  this  time 
is  Love. 

ALTAIR 

Love?  That  little  idiot?  Good,  now  he’s  begin¬ 
ning  to  snivel.  ...  So  he  isn’t  blind  any  more? 

POLICHINELLO 

It’s  just  as  though  he  were.  He’s  a  little  feeble 
minded. 

ALTAIR 

Come  now,  my  young  tap,  haven’t  you  finished  drip¬ 
ping?  [He  wipes  Love’s  eyes.]  He  laughs.  The  rain¬ 
bow.  .  .  .  He  has  pretty  eyes. 

POLICHINELLO 

They’re  not  to  see  with.  Only  to  play  pranks  with. 

20 


ALTAIR  trying  to  catch  Love’s 
glance. 

What  do  you  see?  What  do  you  want?  What  are 
you  thinking  about?  Where  are  you  going? 

Love  escapes  from  him. 

LOVE 

A,  e,  i,  o,  u ! 

Plays  a  shrill  arpeggio  on  his 
Pan-pipes,  skips  away,  kissing  the  ass  as  he  passes;  the  ass 
shakes  his  ears;  Love  runs  off,  followed  by  a  gamboling 
kid. 


POLICHINELLO 

He  sees  nothings  wants  nothing  and  thinks  of  noth¬ 
ing.  He  is  indifferent  to  everything  that  passes.  He 
just  passes. 

ALTAI R,  his  eyes  fixed  in  the  di¬ 
rection  where  Love  disap¬ 
peared. 

How  beautiful  he  was ! 

POLICHINELLO 

It’s  always  like  that — after  he  has  passed. 

Noise  of  a  heavy  brigade, 
marching  with  a  ponderous  beat;  breathless  bugles.  At  the 
head  of  the  procession — all  of  them  loaded  with  knapsacks 
and  arms — is  a  stout  man,  tightly  strapped  into  his  uniform; 
plumed  helmet  of  an  Offenbach  soldier,  enormous  knap¬ 
sack,  saber  and  rifle — sweating,  puffing,  mopping  his  face. 

ALTAIR, 

What  harness  to  wear  when  one  has  to  climb  a 
steep  hill  without  shade  in  the  middle  of  the  day! 
You’re  mad,  my  friends !  Throw  away  your  shells ! 
.  .  .  Are  they  convicts  condemned  to  hard  labor? 
Who  is  that  fat  black  beetle,  pot-bellied  and  whis¬ 
kered,  who,  like  Agamemnon,  marches,  rolls  along  at 
their  head? 

The  fat  man  stumbles. 

POLICHINELLO 

It’s  Peace  advancing — advancing  backwards- 

ALTAIR 

Peace! 


22 


POLICHINELLO 

O,  well,  of  course — Armed  Peace.  Gribouille 
threw  himself  into  the  water  because  he  was  afraid 
of  the  rain.  These  fellows  are  so  afraid  of  the  fire 
that  they  put  it  at  their  tails. 

ALTAIR 

Silly  beasts  of  burden !  With  all  that  ironmongery 
on  your  backs,  you’ll  never,  never  be  able  to  get  up 
to  the  top.  Do  as  this  sage  does.  [He  points  to  Janot’s 
donkey.]  All  fours  up,  roll  on  the  grass! 

23 


POLICHXNELLO 
They  would  ask  nothing  better. 

ALTAIR 

Who  prevents  them? 

POLICHINELLO 
The  donkey-driver. 

Enter  Liberty;  Phrygian  cap; 
shirt  open  on  a  hairy  chest;  a 
carter’s  whip  in  her  hand. 

LIBERTY 

Giddap  !  Goramighty,  g’lang !  Get  on !  Forward, 
citizens.  Get  on,  you  jackass,  or  die!  What’s  the 
matter  with  this  lubber?  His  girths  are  slipping. 
[To  Equality.]  Holy  wench,  give  me  a  hand  and  help 
me  tighten  up  the  straps — the  hog-yoke!  of  this  free 
man. 

POLICHINELLO 
My  son,  salute  your  god. 

ALTAIR 

Who?  This  foul-mouthed  person? 

POLICHINELLO 
"Liberty,  sweet  Liberty!  .  .  .” 

ALTAIR 


And  the  other  one? 


POLICHINELLO 

That’s  her  sister,  gentle  Equality. 

EQUALITY  pulling  tight  the 
straps. 

I’ll  burst  your  belly  for  you! 

Equality,  who  had  laid  down 
a  certain  object  on  the  road¬ 
side  in  order  to  tighten  the 
man’s  girths,  picks  up  the  ob¬ 
ject  and  sets  off  again. 

ALTAIR 

What’s  that  she  holds  in  her  hand? 

POLICHINELLO 

A  pair  of  shears.  .  .  .  Come  away,  don’t  stay  too 
close.  She  cuts,  gnaws,  clips.  Ooh,  ooh!  Clear  out, 
you  ugly  woman,  get  away! 

ALTAIR 

Whom  has  she  a  grudge  against? 

POLICHINELLO 
Against  everything  that  exceeds. 

EQUALITY  gives  him  a  buffet. 

In  with  your  hump! 

POLICHINELLO 
Anch *  io  son  aristo !  .  .  . 

EQUALITY 

Dress  by  the  right!  Form  fours,  to  the  left! 

25 


LIBERTY 

Forward!  Liberty  or  Death! 

She  cracks  her  whip ;  the  troop 
begins  to  set  off. 

ALTAiR 

And  this  one  who  comes  last?  This  half-naked 
nigger  in  a  top-hat  and  a  napkin  under  his  chin,  arm 
in  arm  with  a  clergyman? 

26 


POLICHINELLO 

That’s  Fraternity.  Be  careful,  he’s  very  vicious. 
He’s  a  cannibal,  but  he  uses  a  fork  and  says  grace 
before  meat.  .  .  .  This  good  education  is  the  work, 
my  child,  of  civilization.  That  worthy  chaplain, 
whom  you  see  at  his  side,  never  leaves  him  a  moment ; 
carefully  he  points  out  to  him  those  who  are  not  his 
brothers,  so  that  he  may  have  no  hesitation  in  eating 
them. 

ALTAIR,  in  despair. 

Ignoble  mockery!  No!  I  won’t  look  any  more. 
.  .  .  All  I  love  and  respect  travestied  in  forms  gro¬ 
tesque  or  repulsive!  Fraternity  a  cannibal,  Liberty 
with  her  horse  whip  leading  men  in  chains !  Reason 
blind  and  Love  an  idiot!  What’s  the  good  of  living? 
What  for? 

LILULI  appears  behind  Altai’r. 
She  seems  to  rise  from  the 
meadow  and  floats  a  little  above  the  earth,  her  feet  just 
touching  the  flowers  of  the  white  poppies  without  bending 
them.  She  covers  Altai’r’s  eyes  with  her  hands,  overstepping 
him,  as  she  floats,  by  a  head  and  shoulders. 

For  me. 

ALTAIR  starting. 

Beloved!  Here  you  are! 

He  tries  to  turn  about. 

LILULI 

Don’t  stir !  Stay  like  that ! 

Keeping  her  hands  over  Al¬ 
tair’s  eyes,  she  presses  his  head 
against  her  bosom. 

27 


ALTAIR 

I  feel  your  bosom  pulsing,  I  hear  your  heart  beat¬ 
ing,  beating  against  my  neck.  From  your  fingers  on 
my  eyes,  your  flowery  cool-tipped  fingers,  your  being 
flows  like  a  stream  into  my  burning  flesh.  I  am  faint 
with  love.  You  are  here,  you  are  here! 

LILULI 

Is  all  well  like  this  ? 

ALTAIR 

All  is  well,  all  is  beautiful.  [Suddenly,  as  though  be 
were  waking  up.]  But  all  the  same— those  images,  those 
monsters  that  I  have  just  seen? 

28 


LILULI 


You  have  dreamed. 

ALTAIR 

All  the  same  .  •  . 

LILULI  bends  over  his  still  closed 
eyes  and  brings  her  face  and  her  breath  close  to  Altair’s 
face,  close,  close  to  his  mouth,  as  though  she  were  going 
to  lay  her  lips  on  it ;  but  she  does  not  touch  it,  and  her  lips 
remain  suspended  above  it,  as  her  feet  over  the  poppy 
heads. 

You’re  dreaming.  .  .  .  Look  now. 

ALTAIR  in  ecstasy. 

What  bright  new  light!  The  sun  burns  no  more. 
The  bitter  acrid  smell  of  dust  and  sweat  raised  by  the 
human  cattle  has  ceased  to  reek  from  the  blinding 
roads.  The  cool  breeze  caresses  me,  like  your  hands. 
I  feel  the  sweet  breath  of  the  acacias  floating,  like 
your  lips,  in  the  air.  Harmonious  beings  march  em¬ 
braced,  to  a  splendid  and  joyous  rhythm.  Liberty 
clears  the  road  for  them,  pushes  aside  the  brambles 
from  their  path.  As  Juno,  causing  the  Milky  Way  to 
jet  from  her  round  breast,  a  stream  of  milk  flows 
from  the  berry-red  nipple  that  Fraternity  presses 
between  loving  fingers.  And  hidden  among  the  trees 
I  hear  Love  and  Reason  cooing  voluptuously,  like  a 
pair  of  turtle-doves,  coupled,  beak  to  beak.  O  Life, 
I  have  found  your  lost  face  again.  .  .  .  How  good, 
how  beautiful  it  is ! 

He  sinks  down  asleep  in  the 
arms  of  Liluli. 

29 


LILULI 

Lullaby,  baby,  lullaby. 

She  kisses  his  eyes,  lays  him 
gently  on  the  ground,  wraps  his  head  in  her  veil,  then,  speak¬ 
ing  to  the  soldiers  of  Armed  Peace  who  are  still  filing  past 
—artillerymen  with  their  cannons — she  says  to  them: 

Now,  take  him.  He’ll  sleep  sound  on  that  gun- 
carriage. 

They  take  Altair  and  carry 
him  away. 

POLICHINELLO 

Purr  away,  panther  with  the  gold-flecked  eyes,  lick 
your  cruel  teeth  and  lips  with  the  tip  of  your  pink 
tongue.  Is  it  good,  the  taste  of  blood? 

SO 


Delicious. 


LILULI 


POLI  CHI  NELLO 

Hyreanian  tigress! 

LILULI 

Birmanian  goose! 

POLICHINELLO 

Aren’t  you  ashamed  ? 

LILULI 

Ashamed?  What  is  there  wrong?  Don’t  I  make 
people  happy? 

POLICHINELLO 

You  hand  this  child  over  to  the  executioners. 

LILULI 

He  wouldn’t  change  places  with  a  king.  To  sleep 
on  a  cannon  dreaming  of  Fraternity  .  .  .  could  any¬ 
thing  be  pleasanter,  at  twenty?  I’m  sure  it  tempts 
you,  too. 

She  approaches  Polichinello 
with  an  engaging  smile. 

POLICHINELLO  recoils. 

No,  thank  you!  God  be  praised,  I’m  more  than 
twenty.  I  have  never  appreciated  my  good  luck  so 
much  as  to-day. 

LILULI  coming  yet  nearer. 

It’s  never  too  late  to  be  happy. 

POLICHINELLO  draws  further  back. 

No,  thanks !  I’ve  been  long  reformed. 

SI 


LILULI 


What  a  pity ! 

POLICHINELLO  ironically. 

And  me  such  a  handsome  fellow,  too ! 

LILULI 

Not  so  bad,  you  know. 

Polichinello  bursts  out  laugh¬ 
ing,  but  allows  Liluli  to  come 
a  little  nearer. 

And  if  you  wish  it,  I  can  get  you  accepted,  as  a 
special  favor. 

POLICHINELLO  again  draws  back. 

No,  thanks. 

LILULI 

Why  do  you  move?  You  have  a  sound  pair  of  legs 
at  any  rate.  March  a  little,  let  me  see.  Swing  your 
arms,  lift  your  legs.  .  .  .  What  a  fine  soldier! 

POLICHINELLO 

Yes,  I  should  be  good  at  running  away. 

LILULI 

That’s  something.  In  these  days,  my  friend,  one 
can  only  run  from  under  one  fire  into  another.  So  I 
undertake  you  will  always  be  a  hero.  Don’t  worry. 

POLICHINELLO 

I  don’t  worry  at  all.  A  hero  on  a  bier.  ...  I  pre¬ 
fer  beer  in  my  gullet. 

LILULI 

But  you’ll  get  it,  in  addition  to  everything  else. 
Cool  beer,  good  cheer,  glory,  obituary  .  .  .  “O  glo- 

82 


rious  dead,  I  envy  you!’*  ...  by  one  of  the  great 
gentlemen  of  our  Academies,  whose  greatness  keeps 
him,  poor  man !  on  the  hither  shore ;  or  else  an  ora¬ 
tion  by  Frederic  Masson.  Just  tell  me  what  you 
want.  There’s  nothing  one  wouldn’t  do  to  please  you, 
rogue!  I  have  quite  a  weakness  for  you. 

POLICHINELLO 

For  me? 

LILULI 

For  your  pink  nose,  for  your  face  like  a  laughing 
moon  before  its  first  quarter,  for  your  handsome  gog¬ 
gle  eyes,  round  and  wide  like  a  falcon’s;  your  gay 
humor  and  your  walk,  like  the  walk  of  a  dancer  who, 
for  greater  convenience  on  his  tight-stretched  rope, 
has  swallowed  his  balancing  pole. 

POLICHINELLO 

Have  you  done  laughing  at  me? 

LILULI 

Don’t  you  know  that  a  woman  must  always  mock 
a  little  the  one  she  loves? 

She  tries  to  draw  near. 

POLICHINELLO 

Keep  your  distance,  wanton! 

LILULI 

Do  you  mistrust  me? 

POLICHINELLO 

I  am  afraid  of  your  tongue. 

33 


LILULI 

Are  you  afraid  of  my  lips,  too? 

POLICHINELLO 

No.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Polichi,  my  boy,  you’re  in  the 
soup.  .  .  .  No,  stop! 

He  recoils  at  the  moment 
when  she  has  almost  touched 
him. 

LILULI 

Coward!  To  reassure  you,  would  you  like  me  to 
hold  up  my  hands?  .  .  .  Kamerad! 

POLICHINELLO 

How  white  and  plump  your  arms  are! 

34, 


LILULI 

Feel!  They’re  genuine.  Best  wall  fruit,  silky, 
downy  •  •  • 

Polichinello  puts  out  his  hand, 
withdraws  it,  extends  it  once 
more.  Meanwhile  Liluli  has 
advanced,  without  his  realiz¬ 
ing  it,  and  his  hand  touches 
her. 

Cold  .  .  .  hot  .  .  .  boiling. 

POLICHINELLO 

Hum!  I  have  it. 

LILULI 

He’s  caught! 

POLICHINELLO,  feeling  her. 

A  peach  .  .  .  velvety  and  sugary.  [He  puts  his  arm 
round  her  waist.]  What  deceptive  thinness !  Who’d 
have  thought  it!  .  .  .  Plump  as  a  quail,  well-covered, 
cushiony.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  how  did  you  manage  to  look 
so  diaphanous,  a  mere  shadow,  a  breath,  a  soul,  with¬ 
out  flesh  or  hemispheres,  when  you  were  putting  that 
little  canary  in  his  cage? 

LILULI 

My  little  sleeper?  To  each  his  favorite  groundsel. 

POLICHINELLO 

A  cuttle-bone  for  the  canaries! 

LILULI 

For  the  dreamers  of  twenty,  the  soul.  The  body 
is  nothing,  nothing  but  an  accident.  Isn’t  that  so, 
Polichi  ? 


85 


POLICHINELLO 

Nix,  nix;  as  for  me  I  don’t  live  on  souls.  I’ve  got 
a  very  good  appetite. 

LILULI 

Glutton!  I  hope  you’re  well  served. 


POLICHINELLO 

I  can  satisfy  myself  here.  In  this  orchard  I  see 
plenty  to  eat  and  drink. 


LILULI 

Phew!  but  this  is  not  the  right  moment. 


Why  not? 


POLICHINELLO 

LILULI 


Not  in  front  of  everyone! 

She  points  to  the  people  pass¬ 
ing  in  the  road. 


POLICHINELLO 
I’m  not  at  all  embarrassed. 


LILULI 

But  I’m  bashful. 


POLICHINELLO 

It’s  a  good  thing  you  said  so;  one  wouldn’t  have 
guessed  it. 

LILULI 

Come  this  way. 

POLICHINELLO 

Whither  away? 

36 


To  these  bushes. 


LILULI 


She  drags  him  toward  the 
road. 

POLICHINELLO 

I'd  prefer  somewhere  farther  off. 

LILULI 

Don’t  twist  your  neck  like  a  heron,  you  coward. 
Look  into  my  eyes. 

POLICHINELLO 

I  don’t  see  myself  very  beautiful  in  them. 

LILULI 

You  will  be,  you  are,  if  I  like,  if  you  like.  Do  you 
want  to  be  handsome? 

POLICHINELLO 

And  what  can  you  offer  me? 

LILULI 

Anything  you  like:  one  hump  more  ...  or  less. 
At  your  will.  I  can  make  vour  body  straight  as  a 
young  reed,  your  nose  white  as  a  lily,  and  there,  in 
your  chin,  the  most  coquettish  dimple. 

POLICHINELLO 

Come,  come! 

LILULI 

By  my  breasts !  Look  well  in  my  eyes.  Closer, 
closer.  Do  you  see  yourself  in  them? 

Walking  backward,  she  draw9 
him  on  to  the  edge  of  the  path,  on  to  the  bank  overhanging 
the  winding  road.  She  continues  to  retreat  and  floats  out 

37 


over  the  void,  unnoticed  by  Polichinello,  who  is  not  looking 
down  at  his  feet.  But  he  comes  suddenly  to  his  senses,  just 
as  the  ground  is  failing  beneath  his  feet,  just  in  time  to 
throw  himself  backward  and  escape  from  two  sturdy  fel¬ 
lows  with  hang-dog  faces — recruiting  sergeants — who  are 
lying  in  wait  at  the  bottom  of  the  ditch  to  pick  him  up. 

POLICHINELLO  springing  back. 

Rooti-toot-toot !  I  see  it’s  Jack’s  fate  to  be  hanged! 

ONE  OF  THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS  ris¬ 
ing  up  with  a  recruiting  pos¬ 
ter  on  a  sandwich-board. 


Gentlemen,  for  glory’s  sake! 


as 


POLICHINELLO 
Go  and  catch  other  conies ! 

LILULI 

Are  you  leaving  me? 

POLICHINELLO 

Catamite ! 

Followed  by  the  recruiting 
sergeants,  he  climbs  up  a 
fruit-tree. 

ONE  OF  THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  nose  in  air. 

Come,  sir,  come.  They’re  only  waiting  for  you. 
Everybody  has  enlisted.  Come  now,  we’re  shutting 
up  shop.  Look  at  these  uniforms !  This  helmet 
would  suit  you  nicely.  It’s  a  bargain.  Would  you 
like  some  gold  lace?  There,  there,  sir,  come  down! 

THE  OTHER  RECRUITING  SERGEANT 
Come  down,  you  devil,  or  I’ll  climb  up  and  un¬ 
hook  your  moon-face. 

POLICHINELLO 
Look  out  for  the  plums ! 

He  bombards  them. 

SECOND  RECRUITING  SERGEANT 
The  coward!  He’s  a  franc-tireur! 

FIRST  RECRUITING  SERGEANT 
That  isn’t  done.  Kindly  understand,  sir,  that  a 
single  man,  if  he  isn’t  a  soldier,  has  no  right  to  de¬ 
fend  himself.  It’s  criminal. 

S9 


POLICHINELLO 

Ah !  how  nice  it  is  to  be  a  soldier ! 

SECOND  RECRUITING  SERGEANT  to  Liluli, 
pointing  at  Polichinello  in  the 
tree. 

What  are  we  to  do,  ma’am,  with  this  hunch-backed 
pumpkin  hanging  up  there?  He’s  a  danger  to  the 
passers-by.  Shall  we  pick  the  fruit? 

LILULI 

No,  no;  we’ll  let  him  ripen.  Sooner  or  later,  the 
melon  will  come  and  offer  itself  upon  our  plates.  It’s 
not  quite  ripe  and  ready  yet.  We  must  wait  till  the 
sun  has  gilded  his  flanks. 

POLICHINELLO 

You  can  wait,  then! 

LILULI 

I  shall  have  you. 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS 

We  shall  have  him! 

POLICHINELLO 

Never!  Laughter  is  a  weapon  against  Illusion. 

LILULI 

You’re  mistaken,  my  good  friend.  You  work  for 
me.  You  think  yourself  clever  because  you  “don’t 
believe  in  it.’’  “You  don’t  believe  in  it,’’  you  laugh; 
but  you  do  as  the  rest  do.  Laugh  away,  my  boy, 
laugh !  Your  laughter  helps  the  men  I  enlist  to  march. 

40 


And  you  march,  too.  Tiddledy-widdledy !  Mustn’t 
bother  about  it. 

POLICHINELLO 

Gallows-girl,  lying  wench!  .  .  .  But  isn’t  she 
pretty,  though,  all  the  same! 

LILULI  looks  at  him,  laughing. 

Good-by,  my  lover! 

POLICHINELLO 

Don’t  show  your  teeth  like  that  in  the  sun;  they’d 
make  a  man  want  to  be  eaten! 


41 


LILULI 

Melon,  I  shall  have  your  slices! 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS 
We’ll  get  'em! 

Polichinello  stays  in  the  tree. 
Liluli,  followed  by  the  Re¬ 
cruiting  Sergeants,  makes  her 
way  towards  Janot,  the  don¬ 
key-driver,  who  has  gone  on, 
all  this  time,  quietly  digging 
his  field. 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS  pointing 
out  Janot. 

And  what  about  this  hard  fruit,  this  stony,  sun¬ 
burnt  medlar?  .  .  . 

LILULI 

Let’s  pluck  that,  too.  You  mustn’t  neglect  any¬ 
thing. 

She  approaches  Janot.  The 
others  remain  a  few  paces 
distant.  She  calls. 

My  good  man! 

He  does  not  turn  round. 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS 
Hi,  there.  Peasant! 

Liluli  makes  a  sign  to  them  to 
be  quiet  and  comes  nearer 
J  anot. 

LILULI 

Good  day,  my  friend. 


42 


JANOT,  hardly  lifting  his  head. 

Morning ! 

He  turns  his  back  on  her. 

LILULI 

What  labor!  But,  good  Lord,  my  friend,  you’re 
sweating  your  life  out.  Take  a  little  rest.  The  sun 
strikes  hard,  shade  is  pleasant,  days  are  long,  life  is 
short.  Don’t  hoe  up  the  whole  plain.  Don’t  sweep 
the  board  of  all  the  trouble.  You  must  reserve  a 
little  for  every  day  of  the  week.  Have  you  anything 
that  obliges  you  to  this  work?  Neither  master  nor 
family!  The  man’s  a  fool  who  works  like  a  mule. 
Digging  so  much,  a  man  digs  his  own  grave.  What 
need  have  you  to  be  forever  turning,  scratching,  pok¬ 
ing,  plaguing  the  earth  as  you  do  ?  She  lies  yawning, 
on  her  back  in  the  sun,  swooning  with  languor.  Let 
them  alone.  You  disturb  them.  They’ll  know  how  to 
make  you  fine  children,  blonde  harvests,  blue  cab¬ 
bages,  frail  oats  through  which  the  warm  winds  send 
the  shiver,  the  ripple  of  water,  the  potato’s  big  nose, 
fleshy  and  podgy,  and,  if  you  like,  the  golden  vine 
with  its  chubby  grapes  from  which  you  shall  milk 
into  your  vats,  under  your  big  feet,  old  Noah’s  red 
milk !  I’ll  vouch  for  it,  you  can  believe  me.  Nothing  to 
do  but  to  look  on  and  drink !  There  now,  come  along, 
follow  me,  Jacky! 

She  makes  as  though  to  go 
away. 

POLICHINELLO 

What  a  snare  of  a  wench!  What  chatter! 


43 


JANOT  raising  his  head  for  a 
moment  and  looking  at  Liluli 
as  he  leans  on  his  spade. 

What  are  you  after,  young  female? 


LILULI 

I  want  to  help  you. 

JANOT 


Much  obliged! 
then. 


You  can  spread  this  dung  for  me, 
LILULI 


Pugh!  What  with? 


JANOT 


With  your  fingers,  of  course, 
work. 

LILULI 

My  pretty  fingers! 


IPs  the  most  delicate 


POLICHINELLO 

Ah!  Liluli!  Heh!  What  did  I  tell  you?  Sing 
your  ass  fair  and  he’ll  gi’  you  his  air. 


LILULI 

But  tell  me,  peasant,  haven’t  you  got  the  pip? 
Working  like  a  beast  with  your  head  bent  down  and 
your  tongue  out;  on  these  sun-scorched  lumps  of 
earth,  you  must  raise  a  fearful  thirst.  Won’t  you 
have  a  drink? 

JANOT 

Certainly.  This  evening. 

44 


LILULI 

This  evening  we  shall  be  old,  my  friend.  Who 
knows  if,  this  evening,  we  shall  still  have  any  wine, 
or,  under  our  noses,  the  cellar  into  which  to  pour  it? 
Be  reasonable,  let  us  profit  by  the  occasion.  We  shall 
never  drink  so  young  again. 

JANOT 

Don’t  worry  yourself.  I’ve  got  the  time.  When 
he  wants  to  have  a  drink,  a  man  has  no  need  of  teeth. 

LILULI 

He’s  rooted.  One  word  more,  Janot.  Tell  me,  do 
you  love  your  earth? 

JANOT 

I  should  think  so ! 

LILULI 

I’ve  got  a  lovely  piece  of  ground  for  you,  up  there. 

JANOT  looking  at  the  sky,  stu¬ 
pidly. 

Up  there? 

POLICHINELLO 

O,  you  tail-story-teller,  you  romancer,  what  are 
you  going  to  tell  him  next?  After  the  vineyards  of 
the  Lord,  the  heavenly  kitchen-gardens? 

LILULI 

Do  you  see  these  people  going  along  the  road? 
Striding  along,  they  go  on  and  on.  Up  there,  up 
there,  over  and  beyond  the  mountains.  Lovely  brown 

45 


land  with  clods  like  butter,  thick,  crumbling  beneath 
the  plowshare,  melting  beneath  the  hand,  like  a 
breast,  prolific  as  the  Old  Woman  who  lived  in  a 
Shoe.  .  .  .  Heh!  what  do  you  say  to  that,  Janot? 
Would  you  like  some?  There  it  is!  Your  chops 
water.  Come  and  take  your  share  of  it.  Up,  my 
little  lad !  Aren’t  you  coming  ? 

She  makes  as  though  she  were 
going. 

JANOT 

All  right,  when  I’ve  finished  here,  I  shall  go  over 
there. 

LILULI 

They  11  take  everything,  Janot. 

JANOT 

But  I  take  my  share  now,  on  the  spot. 

LILULI 

A  miserable  nothing  compared  with  the  treasures 
I  offer  you!  ...  A  harvest  that  will  burst  the  bins 
and  the  barns.  Fruit  that  will  break  down  the 
branches.  All  you  have  to  do  there  is  to  bend  down 
and  pick  up  what  falls. 

JANOT 

Two  feet  are  better  than  three  stilts. 

LILULI 

The  other  folks’  feet  are  running. 

JANOT 

Mine  stick  fast. 

4 6 


LILULI 

So  then,  you'll  let  all  your  neighbors  go  ? 

JANOT 

If  your  neighbor  is  going  to  drown  himself,  there’s 
no  need  for  you  to  go. 

LILULI 

Oh !  Ass !  One  who  gives  you  a  wigging  will  lose 
his  own  wig. — But  if  Liluli’s  voice  has  not  the  gift  of 
charming  you,  we  may  be  able  to  find  someone  else 
who  will  make  you  march.  Do  you  disdain  my  eyes? 
Perhaps  hers  will  be  better  able  to  touch  you. 

POLICHINELLO 
Whom  are  you  speaking  of? 

LILULI 

My  cousin  who  has  turned  sour — Opinion. 

POLICHINELLO 
Bah!  Go  along  with  you! 

LILULI 

Who  laughs  last  laughs  best. 

POLICHINELLO 
He  won’t  march. 

LILULI 

He  will  march. 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS 
He  will  march. 


47 


LILULI 

And  so  will  you,  my  friend.  You  won't  be  then  in 
such  high  spirits.  So,  forward !  I  expect  you.  Left 
— Right!  Left — Right!  “We’ll  strike  'em  right, 
right  in  the  grub,  rub-adub,  rub-adub." 

Singing  these  words,  she  digs 
Janot  in  the  ribs,  threatens  Polichinello  gayly,  and  runs  off 
laughing — while  the  recruiting  sergeants  take  up  the  re¬ 
frain,  singing  with  queer  jerky  gestures. 

THE  RECRUITING  SERGEANTS 
We’ll  strike  'em  right,  right  in  the  grub,  rub-adub, 
rub-adub,  we’ll  strike  'em  right,  right  in  the  grub,  and 
make  them  bleed,  bleed  much  blood.  .  .  . 


48 


They  go  out.  While  their 
voices  fade  in  the  distance,  Polichinello,  hanging  on  to  the 
end  of  his  branch  like  a  monkey,  and  Janot  leaning  on  his 
spade,  look  at  one  another  in  perplexity.  Polichinello  slides 
down  from  his  branch.  Janot  leaves  his  spade  planted  in 
the  ground,  and  they  go  on  looking  at  one  another,  Polichi¬ 
nello  scratching  his  hump  and  nose,  Janot  scratching  his 
head.  Then  Janot  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  seizes  his  spade 
once  more,  while  Polichinello  slaps  his  thigh  and  cuts  a 
caper. 


POLICHINELLO 

Rub-adub.  .  .  .  Pooh!  we  shall  see,  there’s  time 
enough.  It  will  be  amusing.  .  .  .  Rub-adub! 

A  crowd  is  heard  approaching, 
chanting  on  one,  same,  even,  uninterrupted,  monotonous,  la¬ 
bored  note,  separating  all  the  syllables,  up  to  the  last  two 
phrases,  which  are  articulated  with  violence. 

THE  CROWD  laden  with  little  gods. 

O-ra-pro-nobis,  Saint  Sulpitius — St.  Evaristus — St. 
Propitius — St.  Sebastian,  St.  Fridolin — St.  Zephirin, 
St.  Benjamin — Pantaleon,  Napoleon — St.  Dagobert, 
St.  Robespierre — St.  Veronica,  St.  Republica — St. 
King,  St.  Kaiser,  St.  Cannon — St.  Holy-Water-Pot, 
St.  Reason,  St.  Petticoat — great  St.  Anthony  and  St. 
Pig — St.  Fortuna  and  St.  Pecunia — St.  Grego  and  St. 
Ego — St.  Silly,  St.  Heaven,  St.  Spleen — St.  Prunes- 
and-Prisms,  St.  Bellyfull — St.  Love-me-not-my-neigh- 
bor — for  you  are  mine,  not  his — I  didn’t  take 
and  give  you  board  and  washing — lodged  you,  prayed 
to  you  and  entertained  you — that  you  should  go  and 
help  my  neighbor. — Give  and  take;  it  is  written: 

49 


Heaven  will  help  you,  if  you  help  it — you’re  with  me, 
so  stay  here — good  saint,  good  dog,  and  if  any  one 
comes — bite  the  stranger !  O-ra-pro-nobis,  come-now, 
pray !  I  don’t  pray  to  you  gratis ! 

MASTER-GOD  dressed  as  an  Arab 
hawker;  over  his  shoulder  he  carries  pieces  of  Oriental  stuff. 
Truth,  clad  as  a  gipsy,  in  a  parti-colored  Harlequin’s  cos¬ 
tume,  pushes  a  little  barrow. 

Little  gods  for  sale!  Who’ll  buy?  Gods  for  every¬ 
thing  and  everybody!  For  the  kitchen,  for  child¬ 
birth,  for  burns  and  tooth-ache,  for  a  better  govern¬ 
ment,  for  finding  lost  ob j  ects,  recovering  stolen  purses 
and  virility,  for  winning  law-suits  without  costs  and 
making  other  people  lose  theirs.  Gods,  little  gods, 
very  cheap !  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  are  any  of  you 
without  one?  It’s  always  wise,  in  these  hard  times, 
to  have  a  good  god  in  one’s  pocket,  in  case  one  may 
have  need  of  it.  Look,  gentlemen,  we  have  them  to 
suit  all  tastes  and  purses.  Ladies,  we  have  them  in 
all  the  best  scents,  in  the  form  of  sachets  to  slip  be¬ 
tween  your  little  breasts;  we  have  them  as  writing- 
table  ornaments,  paper-weights,  or  else  mounted  on 
tie-pins.  Look,  gentlemen,  gods,  gods,  at  reduced 
prices  for  families,  dollar  ’n  a  quarter  a  pair,  seven¬ 
ty-five  each;  a  thoroughly  reliable  article.  Take  it, 
my  lord.  I’ll  let  you  have  it  for  thirty  cents. 

POLICHINELLO 

Hullo,  old  monkey-nut  seller,  you  seem  to  be  coin¬ 
ing  money. 


50 


MASTER-GOD  modestly. 

O,  well,  one  scrapes  along. 

POLICHINELLO 

But  do  you  know  that  your  business  might  bring 
you  into  trouble? 

MASTER-GOD 

With  whom,  sir?  My  position  is  all  correct.  I  am 
a  man  of  order,  I  respect  the  State — all  the  States. 
My  principle,  sir,  is  always  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
those  that  are  strong.  Whoever  they  are,  they  are 
fine,  they  are  good,  they  are  .  .  .  strong.  When  one 
has  said  that,  one  has  said  everything.  They  change, 

51 


sometimes,  but  I  change  with  them,  or  even  a  quarter- 
of-an-hour  before.  O!  I’m  not  to  be  caught.  And 
you’ll  always  find  me,  always,  on  the  right  side. 

POLICHINELLO 

Ha,  ha !  In  that  case,  old  boy,  you’re  luckier  than 
I  am.  I  generally  find  myself  at  the  wrong  end  of 
the  stick. 

MASTER-GOD 

My  son,  there  must  always  be  people  for  both  ends. 

POLICHINELLO 

Suppose  we  change? 

MASTER-GOD 

No,  no.  Every  man  must  stay  at  his  post. 

POLICHINELLO 

To  return  to  what  we  were  talking  about:  tell  me 
now :  I  can  understand  your  being  on  good  terms  with 
the  mighty  ones  of  the  earth,  if  you  pay;  that’s  your 
affair.  Money  makes  the  mare  go.  But  the  old 
Father?  How  does  he  regard  your  actions? 

MASTER-GOD 

What  Father? 

POLICHINELLO  pointing  to  the  sky. 

The  Old  Fellow  up  there.  Aren’t  you  afraid  of  his 
wrath?  You’re  in  competition  with  him,  you  fetish- 
monger.  [Master-God  bursts  out  laughing.]  What  are  you 
laughing  at? [Master-God  has  a  fit  of  choking.  Polichinello 
slaps  him  on  the  back.]  Gently,  gently.  .  .  . 

52 


Excuse  me,  sir. 


MASTER-GOD  calming  himself,  very 
politely. 


He  gets  rid  of  the  stuffs  that 
he  is  carrying  on  hi9  shoulder  by  unloading  them,  without 
ceremony,  yet  always  with  manners  of  an  exquisite  polite¬ 
ness,  onto  the  bewildered  Polichinello. 


Allow  me. 

POLICHINELLO 

But  .  .  . 

He  stands  there,  unable  to  un¬ 
derstand,  loaded  like  an  ass.  Master  God,  now  unburdened, 
calmly  proceeds  to  take  off  his  Arab  hawker’s  gown,  his 
turban,  &c. 

But  .  .  .  but  .  .  . 

Master-God  appears  with  his 
fine  long  lock9  curled  and  well-brushed,  his  beard  carefully 
tended,  his  white  dressing-gown  with  a  golden  sun  embroid¬ 
ered  on  it  in  front  and  a  moon  behind.  He  puts  the  finish¬ 
ing  touches  to  his  toilette  in  front  of  the  mirror  which 
Truth  holds  up  to  him.  During  the  process  of  completing 
his  work,  he  whispers  confidentially  in  Polichinello’s  ear, 
making  a  screen  with  his  hand. 


MASTER-GOD 

The  Old  Fellow  up  there,  sir  .  .  .  [He  points  to 
himself.]  is  Me. 

POLICHINELLO  now  incapable  of 
understanding  anything. 

What? 

MASTER-GOD  winking  his  eye. 
Master  Good  God  Almighty,  sir,  at  your  service! 


POLICHINELLO  stands  gaping  at 
the  information. 


Ah!  Bah! 


MASTER-GOD  who  is  not  above  en¬ 
joying  a  bad  pun. 

Not  a  has,  sir,  but  on  high.  Ay,  very  high. 

POLICHINELLO  exhausts  himself  in 
prostrations. 

Excuse  me,  your  Grace.  ...  I  treated  you  fa¬ 
miliarly. 

MASTER-GOD  indulgently. 

No  offense,  my  son;  I’m  used  to  it. 

POLICHINELLO 
But  this  disguise.  .  .  . 


54 


MASTER-GOD  complacently. 

Yes,  I  was  well  made  up  .  .  .  [Pointing  to  Truth.] 
She  dresses  me.  Allow  me  .  .  .  [He  introduces  them.] 
My  son,  Polichinello  .  .  .  my — shall  we  say,  my 
friend,  Chiridichiquilla?  ...  [To  Polichinello,  who  has 
not  caught  the  name.]  Truth,  my  son ;  she  with  the  cry 
of  the  swallow. 

POLICHINELLO  taking  off  his  hat. 

Mademoiselle,  or  Madame,  I  thought  you  were — if 
youTl  excuse  me — a  member  of  my  family,  one  of  the 
Harlequin  girls. 

TRUTH 

And  you  were  quite  right,  my  gossip.  Harlequin 
is  my  cousin.  Like  him,  I  am  dressed  in  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow. 

POLICHINELLO 

The  costume  suits  you;  but  I  should  have  preferred 
to  see  you,  as  they  speak  of  you,  at  the  side  of  a  well, 
dressed  ...  all  undressed. 

TRUTH 

Hush! 

She  points  at  Master-God  who 
has  meanwhile  been  arranging 
the  old  clothes  in  the  barrow. 

That's  reserved  for  him  alone.  He’s  jeal¬ 
ous.  Once  he  acted  King  Condaules’s  role  and 
gnashed  his  teeth  over  it.  Since  then,  the  jewels  have 
been  kept  under  lock  and  key.  But,  cousin,  if  one 
really  wants  to,  there  are  ways.  ...  I’ll  say  no  more. 

.  .  .  For  want  of  the  key.  .  .  . 

65 


POLICHINELLO 

There  are  locksmiths. 

TRUTH  pointing  at  Master-God 
who  is  drawing  near. 

Hush ! 

MASTER-GOD  slightly  suspicious 
but  paternal. 

Well,  my  children,  you  seem  to  have  made  prompt 
acquaintance. 

POLICHINELLO  taking  hold  of  a 
piece  of  Truth’s  dress. 

I  was  admiring  this  shot  material,  your  Grace. 

MASTER-GOD 

Yes,  it’s  gorge-de-pigeon.  I  chose  it  myself.  It 
varies  according  to  the  humor  of  the  passers-by. 
Whoever  would  like  Truth  rose-colored  or  somber  or 
gray,  hope-green  or  blood-red — he  is  served.  I  want 
all  the  world  to  be  content. 

POLICHINELLO 

You’re  not  exacting. 

MASTER-GOD 

One  has  to  live,  my  child.  Times  are  hard.  Prices 
are  going  up.  The  Germans  have  shown  us,  in  trade, 
that  one  must  follow  people’s  tastes.  A  prudent  man 
doesn’t  offend  his  clients.  The  fashion  for  stuff  that 
won’t  wear  out  has  passed.  They  want  shoddy. 
We’ll  give  it  them,  amen,  for  their  money.  In  old 
days  God  sufficed  them,  one  and  alone,  eternal.  Then 
I  sat  throned,  invisible,  in  the  smoke  of  their  altars 
and  in  the  hearts  of  their  prophets.  Nowadays  they 

56 


make  a  point  of  seeing,  fingering,  feeling  little  gods 
between  their  greasy  fingers.  So  be  it !  I  break  my¬ 
self  up  into  small  change.  Who’ll  take  the  Eternal 
in  spelter  Saints,  monkeys,  fetishes,  knick-knacks, 
amulets,  greegrees,  sacred  and  profane,  medals 
stamped  with  the  effigies  of  Republics  or  Kings,  they 
can  take  their  choice!  Who  pays,  prays.  They  are 
petty.  Let  us  be  petty.  I  don’t  loose  my  thunder¬ 
bolts  on  parsley  plants.  Since  their  heart  is  in  their 
pocket,  we  shall  find  a  way  of  installing  ourselves 
there. 


57 


THE  CROWD  taking  up  its  chant 
once  more.  Shrill  voices. 

St.  John,  St.  Gratian — Hvginus,  Crispian,  Lon¬ 
ginus,  Lucan — Balbinus,  Quentin,  Quirinus,  St.  Bun¬ 
ting — St.  Jacobin,  St.  Parson — Saint  Loyola,  Saint 
Panama — Tobacco  Shops,  Papa’s  Boy — Odo,  T,ripho- 
nius.  Saint  Free-Mason — Evolution,  Revolution,  Tra¬ 
dition — Immaculate  Conceptions — Saintess  Right, 
Saint  Might,  Saint  Me — St.  Holy  Gospel  according 
to  our  Apostle — St.  Pantaloon  and  St.  Buffoon.  .  .  . 

From  the  other  side  of  the  ra¬ 
vine  another  crowd  is  heard 
approaching,  chanting  in  an¬ 
other  language. 

THE  OTHER  CROWD  bass  voices. 

Ora  pro  nobis,  Sankt  Luther — Bliicher,  Koerner, 
Schopenhauer — Bebel,  Hebbel,  Hegel,  Haeckel — 
Sankta  Gewalt,  Sankt  Oswald — Sankt  Kant,  Sankt 
Krupp,  Krieg  und  Kultur— Hochwiirdige  hochacht- 
bar  hoch  Organization — St.  Holy  Gospel  according 
to  St.  Marx  and  St.  Bismarck.  .  .  . 

The  Hurluberloches  debouch 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ravine  immediately  opposite  the 
first  crowd  of  Gallipoulets,  from  whom  they  are  separated 
by  a  footbridge.  On  either  side  they  halt  and  question  one 
another  noisily,  teasingly,  amicably. 

THE  TWO  CROWDS  great  din. 

Hullo!  There  are  the  folks  of  the  other  side!  Hi, 
friends !  .  .  .  What  ugly  mugs !  Lord,  aren’t  they 
hideous.  .  .  .  Fish-faces !  .  .  .  Gallipoulets !  .  .  . 
Sausage-eaters.  Sacks  of  rotgut !  .  .  .  Do  get  on  to 

58 


that  paunch!  .  .  .  Look  at  that  big  red  one,  that 
pugnose  dog!  .  .  .  Hide  your  jowl!  .  .  .  Hold  on 
to  your  guts !  they’re  falling  out.  ...  A  health  to 
the  ladies.  ...  To  you,  my  heart!  .  .  .  Come  over 
here,  my  darling!  .  .  .  Heh,  my  little  plump  one, 
just  a  good  smack  on  your  two  apples!  .  .  .  Where 
are  you  going,  you  chaps?  .  .  .  Up  there,  up  there, 
comrades !  ...  So  are  we.  .  .  .  We’re  running  away 
from  the  flood.  .  .  .  And  so  are  we  all.  Well,  then, 
let’s  go  on  our  way  together.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  that  would 
be  fun !  .  .  .  Ooh !  but  this  rockety  bridge  isn’t  enough 
to  cross  this  torrent  on.  .  .  .  Well,  then,  you  tanks, 
you  stick-in-the-muds,  what  t’hell,  we’ll  make  another 


59 


bridge.  .  .  .  Come  on,  woodcutters,  lay  on!  And, 
carpenters,  saw  away !  .  .  .  We  others,  while  we  wait 
— let’s  sit  down  on  either  bank  and  let  us  feast! 
What  do  you  say?  What  do  you  say  to  that?  .  .  . 
Eat,  let’s  eat!  When  it’s  a  matter  of  stowing  away, 
honest  folk  will  never  say  nay.  .  .  .  What  have  you 
got  in  your  baskets?  .  .  .  Chitterlings  and  saveloy. 
.  .  .  Sausages  and  black  pudding.  .  .  .  And  pump¬ 
kin  pie.  .  .  .  Cheese  o’  sheep  and  brown  bread.  .  .  . 
Garlic  to  keep  the  mouth  fresh  and  leeks  with  their 
white  heads  and  their  green  tails — the  vert  galants. 
And  some  chestnuts  and  prunes.  .  .  .  And  to  drink, 
a  nice  little  white  wine  that  is  werry  werry  fine.  And 
we,  we’ve  beer  as  blond  as  our  blond-maned  girls. 
.  .  .  And  we,  we’ve  cider  that  foams  and  makes  the 
cork  go  pop.  .  .  .  Let’s  belch,  let’s  bulge,  let’s  guz¬ 
zle,  let’s  gorge.  D’ye  like  some  of  mine?  Give  me 
some  of  thine!  .  .  .  Here’s  a  loaf  for  an  oaf!  Sau¬ 
sage  nice,  catch  a  slice!  [They  toss  their  victuals  one  to 
another  across  the  ravine.]  Hi!  frog-face,  open  your 
trap !  .  .  .  Bang,  right  in  a  thousand !  The  drink, 
that’s  sacred ;  the  child  will  bring  it  to  you.  ...  Hi ! 
Tom-thumb,  take  care,  don’t  fall.  It’s  almost  as 
though  you  were  holding  the  Holy  Sacrament.  .  .  . 
[Children  go  back  and  forth  from  side  to  side  over  the  nar¬ 
row  foot-bridge,  carrying  tankards  and  bottles.]  Your 
health!  .  .  .  Hum,  it’s  good!  .  .  .  Let’s  drink,  broth¬ 
ers,  drink!  No  more  frontiers!  The  whole  world 
is  nothing  more  than  one  paunch  with  a  thousand 

60 


arms,  to  barrel  up  food  and  drink,  and  one  heart  to 
love  everybody. 

THE  FAT  MEN  among  themselves. 

Lord!  Do  you  hear  what  these  beggars  are  say¬ 
ing?  No  more  frontiers,  it’s  scandalous.  .  .  .  Look 
at  them  passing  round  the  loving-cup,  drinking  out 
of  the  same  jug  and  lapping  out  of  the  same  dish. 
.  .  .  Ugh,  ugh!  The  ideal  of  these  swine  would  be 
to  impose  on  every  man  of  them  one  trough,  one  hovel, 
one  dung-hill.  These  sharers  are  dangerous.  I  want 
each  man  to  have  his  own;  give  me  mine — and  the 
others  can  have  what’s  left.  Good  God !  Good  God ! 
Better  and  better!  And  see,  they’re  dancing  now, 
hugging  one  another.  .  .  .  It’s  scandalous!  ...  If 
they  were  all  united  it  would  be  a  calamity.  .  .  .  The 
pee-pul  wouldn’t  want  to  work  any  more.  Zounds, 
god’s  blood,  then  we  should  have  to  sweat  and  work! 
...  No  more  rich,  no  more  poor,  no  more  states,  no 
more  nations.  It  would  be,  it  would  be  sheer  topsy¬ 
turvydom!  .  .  .  If  we  let  them  do  as  they  liked,  why, 
there  would  be  no  more  war ;  why,  there’d  be  no  more 
God.  It’s  enough  to  make  one  tear  one’s  hair  .  .  . 
no  more  anything,  no  more  property!  Every  one 
would  only  think  of  being  happy.  It’s  scandalous ! 
.  .  .  What  an  insolent  pretension !  To  want  to  elimi¬ 
nate  evil  from  this  earth !  Then  what  would  be  left 
for  honest  folk  to  rest  their  heads  on?  Not  a  stone. 
. .  .  God  created  evil,  pestilence,  patriotism,  wealth  and 
war.  He  knew  very  well  why !  The  earth  needs  ma- 

61 


nuring.  Evil,  that  is  the  manure.  There  must  be 
enrichment.  There  must  be  common  people.  There 
must  be  beggars.  And  there  must  be  poverty  for 
plow  and  hatred  for  goad,  so  that  they  may  drive 
their  furrow.  .  .  .  Gee,  haw!  get  along!  These  oxen 
must  be  made  to  go. 

But  you,  gentlemen  of  the  Diplomatic  Corps,  you 
prickers  of  oxen,  what  the  devil  are  you  doing  with 
the  goad?  We  had  charged  you  with  the  task  of 
watching  over  our  safety,  of  maintaining  the  order 
and  injustice  consecrated  by  the  past,  the  abuses, 
the  traditions  and  the  disunion  of  nations.  .  .  .  And 
that’s  the  way  you  conduct  the  pee-pul  for  us !  Oho, 
gentlemen,  that  isn’t  good  .  .  .  straight  into  one  an¬ 
other’s  arms!  Is  it  for  this  noble  result.  .  .  .  ha,  ha! 
.  .  .  that  you’ve  been  paid,  gilded  and  braided  be¬ 
fore,  behind,  from  top  to  toe,  covered  with  honor  and 
stars!  Now,  then,  gentlemen  of  the  Diplomatic 
Corps ! 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

Now  then,  now  then,  my  Fat  Sirs !  Leave  us  alone. 
You  don’t  understand  anything  about  it.  For  Diplo¬ 
macy  is  a  mystery.  .  .  .  Hush!  .  .  .  You,  common 
people!  are  permitted  to  adore  only,  and  be  silent. 
All  is  for  the  best.  Know  then  that  in  the  Service 
when  we  make  a  mistake,  we  do  it  on  purpose.  If 
one  of  us  bites  the  dust,  he’s  only  pretending,  he’s 
embracing  the  earth.  .  .  .  Back!  No  admittance  to 
our  house;  keep  quiet!  Or  else  we  give  a  week’s  no- 

62 


tice.  .  .  .  Poor  numskulls !  So  you  criticize  and  carp 
at  this  picture,  do  you  ?  [They  point  to  the  peoples  at  the 
feast.  1  It’s  the  finest  child  our  genius  has  ever  begot¬ 
ten.  Listen  now,  for  we  will  condescend  to  explain 
our  sacred  inventions  to  you,  dunces!  Since  it  was 
impossible  to  prevent  these  beggars  from  advancing, 
and  since  the  city  walls,  old  and  worm-eaten,  were 
ready  to  fall  at  their  thrusting,  we,  smart  chaps,  have 
pretended  to  approve.  But  the  exodus  won’t  go  far. 
We  direct  it;  and  before  long  you’ll  see  these  cudg¬ 
eled  asses  going  back,  chop-fallen,  to  their  mangers. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

And  who’ll  be  the  donkey  driver? 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

Why,  Diplomacy.  Thanks  to  our  genius  the  emi¬ 
grant  peoples,  instead  of  each  taking  a  different  road, 
have  been  guided  all  toward  the  single  point  where  all 
the  roads  join. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

Why?  In  order  that  they  may  unite? 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

O  men  of  little  faith!  Why?  In  order  that  they 
may  belabor  one  another. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

What? 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

It’s  a  game.  Leave  us  to  act  with  our  partners,  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Service  on  the  other  side. 

63 


THE  FAT  MEN 

Are  you  in  agreement,  then? 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

According  to  the  rules,  one  must  be:  we  have  our 
game.  Diplomacy  is  a  game  of  chess.  The  rules  de¬ 
mand  that,  to  win,  one  must  lose  pawns.  The  pawns 
are  there  [pointing  to  the  peoples]  ;  we  have  only  to  put 
them  on  the  chess-board. 

CHORUS 

O  fair  Diplomacy,  thou  angel  sent  from  heaven 
to  temper  the  wearisomeness  of  life,  to  rid  us  of 
irksome  peace,  of  happiness  and  love,  which  are 
things  all  too  vulgar ;  thou  dost  undo  the  work  of  na¬ 
ture  (for  nature  is  good  for  beasts)  ;  thou  makest  ene¬ 
mies  of  those  who  are  united;  and  those  who  cannot 
bear  with  one  another  thou  knittest  together.  None 
so  well  as  thou  knows  the  art  of  finding  in  a  hayloft 
the  solitary  needle.  If  it  be  not  there,  thou  puttest 
it  there:  thus  Joseph  slipping  a  cup  into  Benjamin’s 
wallet.  We  owe  it  to  thy  conjuring  tricks  in  the 
manner  of  Robert  Houdin  that,  on  rising  each  morn¬ 
ing,  we  never  know  what  thou  wilt  have  done  with 
us  by  evening.  Through  thee  we  are  acquainted  with 
war  and  its  delights — ravished  wife,  ravaged  fields, 
my  skin  punctured  (ow!  ow!),  but  then  I  puncture 
other  people’s — the  exquisite  joys  of  envy  (how  sweet 
it  is  to  get  the  j  aundice  through  coveting  one’s  neigh¬ 
bor’s  goods!  We  shall  take  him  and  destroy  him; 

04 


taking  is  very  good;  destroying  is  better;  de¬ 
stroying  is  a  feast  for  the  gods.)  .  .  .  With  thy  won¬ 
drous  fingers  thou  knowest  how  to  tangle  the  thread 
as  thou  windest  it,  to  make  knots  in  the  skein.  Clever 
must  be  he  who  shall  undo  them!  No  one  has  the 
right  to  nose  out  the  secrets  of  the  green  table.  Thou 
playest  with  us,  our  money,  our  goods,  our  skins,  our 
souls  and  our  children,  and  none  may  penetrate  thy 
game.  .  .  .  It’s  stunning!  .  .  .  And  when,  after¬ 
wards,  I  am  beaten,  pounded,  fleeced  and  thoroughly 
contented,  thou  presentest  me  with  a  lovely  treaty, 
covered  with  signed  initials,  and  the  bill,  to  be  paid 
cash  down.  And  we  pay,  and  we  say:  “Thank  you, 
thank  you !  Till  next  time.”  When  one’s  the  oyster, 
one  must  be  swallowed,  mustn’t  one?  And  I  am,  and 
I  shall  be.  It  makes  me  gape  with  pleasure  and 
pride.  .  .  .  O  lovely  Diplomacy,  what  would  life  be 
without  thee?  A  wine  without  dregs.  A  pleasure 
without  envy.  A  summer  day  without  rain.  ...  A 
most  insinid  contentment. 

POLICHINELLO 

And  what  are  they  doing,  those  scarabs  over  there, 
those  gold-braided  fellows,  whispering,  plotting  to¬ 
gether?  One  would  say  a  lot  of  big  dung-beetles  as¬ 
sembled  round  a  cow-pat. 

MASTER-GOD 

They  are  beckoning  to  me.  ...  I  must  go  and  give 
a  helping  hand  to  my  dear  sons.  For  it  is  said:  “Help 

65 


yourself  and  heaven  will  help  you.”  ...  [To  those 
about  him.]  Excuse  me.  ...  I  have  been  sent  for.  .  .  . 
[to  Truth,  who  is  preparing  to  follow  him.]  No,  stay  here. 
We  have  no  need  of  you  for  the  moment.  When 
everything  is  finished  you  shall  be  told.  [To  Polichinello.] 
My  son,  I  entrust  her  to  you.  .  .  .  And  don’t  abuse 
your  trust.  .  .  .  I’ll  be  back  and  take  her  again.  .  .  . 
He  goes  off,  humming,  with  little  hurrying  steps,  then  turns 
back.  Above  all,  respect  her,  Polichinello ! 

POLICHINELLO  puts  a  finger  to  the 
corner  of  his  eye. 

Like  the  apple  of  my  eye. 

TRUTH  who  has  kept  a  watch 
on  the  departure  of  Master- 
God. 

The  old  man’s  gone?  .  .  .  [throwing  her  arms  round 
Polichinello’s  neck.]  Houp-la!  Carry  me  off  with 
you!  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

What?  What! 

TRUTH 

Carry  me  off!  .  .  .  Presto,  presto!  One,  two, 
three  and  away! 

POLICHINELLO 

O  no,  indeed.  .  .  .  Ah,  what  a  mess !  .  .  .  The  old 
man  will  be  furious. 

TRUTH  stamping  her  foot. 

I’ve  had  enough  of  them,  I’ve  had  enough  of  all 
these  old  men,  these  kings,  these  priests,  these  min¬ 
isters,  these  fat  bourgeois ,  these  diplomats,  these 

66 


deputies,  these  journalists,  all  these  puppets,  preach¬ 
ers,  pot-bellies,  these  gods  and  dodderers !  I’ve  had 
enough,  enough  of  slaving!  I’ve  had  enough,  enough 
of  lying!  ...  I  want  to  live,  sing,  dance;  I  want  to 
run  and  laugh.  .  .  .  My  cousin,  my  ugly  cousin, 
humped  and  crooked  if  you  will,  but  free  and  merry, 
I  like  you  better.  Save  me  from  them!  They’ll  come 
and  shut  me  up,  they’ll  come  and  cloister  me,  muzzle 
me,  gird  me  with  a  belt  of  chastity.  .  .  .  Take  me 
away  with  you!  We’ll  go  through  the  world  laugh¬ 
ing,  telling  folk  the  truth,  tweaking  their  noses,  open¬ 
ing  their  closed  eyes,  unprisoning  the  immured,  un¬ 
swathing  the  bound,  sending  a  spark  of  light  into 

67 


brains  besmoked,  breaking  temples  and  thrones,  and 
making  the  laughter  of  the  starry  sky  shine  through 
the,  tom  darkness.  .  .  . 

POLICHINELLO 

Very  fine,  very  fine;  you’ll  get  me  into  terrible 
trouble,  dear  coz.  Very  soon  we’d  find  ourselves 
sleeping  in  the  lock-up. 

TRUTH 

And  a  fine  thing,  too,  my  Poli.  We  should  be  two 
in  the  same  bed.  Poli,  Polet,  my  little  Poulet,  Poli- 
chinello,  they  may  hang  you  or  quarter  you,  I  shall 
always  be  true  to  thee.  Let’s  love  one  another — what 
matters  anything  else? 

POLICHINELLO 

Ah!  but  excuse  me,  it  matters  a  great  deal  to  me. 

TRUTH 

But  we  shall  be  two,  I  tell  you !  I’m  ready  to  go 
to  the  stake  with  you. 

POLICHINELLO 

The  stake!  Ods’  hump!  No  doubt  it’s  very  fine 
to  be  two  on  that  scaffold,  but — it  gives  me  the  cold 
shivers — I  prefer  to  be  alone  in  some  cooler  spot. 

TRUTH 

Ugh,  you  coward!  you  rabbit!  You  chicken-heart¬ 
ed  poltroon!  You’re  always  the  same,  you’re  afraid 
of  the  stick.  You  can  laugh  and  make  fun,  but  be- 

68 


hind  your  hand,  like  a  schoolboy.  Like  your  great 
fathers,  the  great  Polichinellos,  the  masters  of  free 
irony  and  laughter,  like  Erasmus  and  Voltaire,  you 
are  prudent,  prudent;  your  big  mouth  closes  down 
on  your  snigger.  .  .  .  Fine  fellows  to  look  at,  my 
lovers !  So  long  as  they  save  their  wit  and  their  gal¬ 
ligaskins,  they  don’t  care  a  snap  about  those  of  other 
folks.  My  love  for  them  makes  them  free,  but  me 
they  leave  captive.  .  .  .  Ah !  you  don’t  love  me,  you 
don’t  know  how  to  love  Truth;  you  only  love  your¬ 
selves,  you  wouldn’t  risk  a  hair  to  deliver  me.  .  .  . 
Laughter,  thou’rt  a  fox:  no,  thou’rt  not  the  lion.  .  .  . 
Laugh  away,  then,  laughers  !  This  shall  be  your  pun¬ 
ishment;  you  shall  always  know  how  to  mock  at  false¬ 
hood  when  you  catch  it  in  your  nets,  but  never,  never 
will  you  catch  Truth.  Since  you  are  afraid  to  be 
seen  with  her,  I  shall  never  be  your  faithful  comrade, 
holding  your  hand  by  day  and  at  night  leaning  watch¬ 
fully  over  your  sleep.  You  shall  be  alone,  you  laugh¬ 
ers,  alone  with  your  laughter,  under  the  vault  of  the 
void.  And  you  will  call  to  me  then.  And  I  shall  an¬ 
swer  no  more,  I  shall  be  gagged.  .  .  .  Ah!  When 
will  the  lover  come,  the  great  all-conquering  Laugh, 
who  shall  rouse  me  once  more  to  life  with  the  sound 
of  his  roaring? 

MASTER-GOD  from  the  distance. 

Hi!  Truth,  it’s  time.  Come  and  dress. 

Truth  wraps  herself  sullenly 
in  her  gipsy  mantle. 

69 


TRUTH  to  Polichinello. 

Never  more  shall  you  hear  me. 

She  darts  away. 

POLICHINELLO 

Good  riddance!  .  .  .  Cousin  Truth  is  charming, 
certainly,  quite  charming.  .  .  .  But  what  a  tempera¬ 
ment!  Ouf!  Can  you  see  me  with  this  volcano  in 
my  bed?  I  was  always  told  that  Truth  was  a  mod¬ 
est  person,  good-looking,  well  brought  up,  prudish 
and  narrow-minded.  .  .  .  Well,  after  that,  believe,  if 
you  can,  in  wedding  announcements !  A  nanny  goat 
gone  mad.  .  .  .  The  devil!  she’s  all  fire!  One  has 
only  to  touch  her,  and  one  begins  to  roast !  .  .  .  Just 
go  for  a  walk  with  that  madcap  on  your  arm !  Every¬ 
one  would  be  pointing  at  you.  .  .  .  It’s  a  fine  thing. 
Truth  is.  .  .  .  But  between  ourselves,  gentlemen,  a 
pretty  little  lie  is  much  nicer  to  fondle.  Gentlemen, 
let  us  go  on  lying  and  tousling.  What’s  that? 
[He  comes  to  a  stop  before  an  object  which  a  passing  girl 
has  picked  up;  he  snatches  it  from  her.]  Let  go,  will  you! 
A  pomegranate  flower  let  fall  from  her  dark  locks  by 
the  mad  creature  in  her  restlessness.  It  smells  of 
the  perfumed  sweat  of  her  mane.  ...  I  quaff  it, 
bite  it,  chew  it,  like  an  ass.  .  .  .  ’Sblood!  I  was  a 
coward!  .  .  . 

THE  WORKMEN  on  one  side  of  the 
ravine  sing  while  they  labor. 
Lively,  jerky  air. 

O-ho,  Joseph,  come  tell  us, 

O-ho,  Joseph,  come  tell  us: 

70 


Were  you  not  jealous 
At  the  curving  waist-line 
Of  that  princess  divine? 

O-ho,  Joseph,  come  tell  us 
O-ho,  Joseph.  .  .  . 

THE  WORKMEN  on  the  other  side  of 
the  ravine  sing  while  they  la¬ 
bor.  Slow  air. 

Down  beyant  the  orchard  there’s  a  green,  green 
grove  .  .  . 

Nightingale’s  a-singing  day  by  day  .  .  . 

Talking  pretty  talk  and  says  regardin’  love: 
“Lovers  they  be  woeful  ones  for  aye.’’ 

THE  TWO  GANGS  OF  WORKMEN  together. 

Down  beyant  the  orchard  there’s  a  green,  green 
grove  .  .  . 

O-ho,  Joseph,  come  and  tell  us  .  .  . 

Nightingale’s  a-singing  day  by  day  .  .  . 

Cuckoo,  cuckoo!  Cuckoo,  cuckoo! 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH  to  Master-God. 
The  jackanapes!  Daring  to  sully  Your  Lordship 
with  their  stupid  jocularity! 

MASTER-GOD  indulgently. 

Enough,  my  son ;  I  am  in  good  company.  They  in¬ 
flict  on  me  a  common  hardship.  It’s  only  to  make  me 
their  fellowman.  If  it  would  give  them  pleasure 
that  one  should  wear  horns  we  will  mount  them:  the 
bull-god  Apis  certainly  wore  them! 

71 


THE  WORKMEN  coming  back  from 
either  side  with  the  planks  of 
the  bridge  which  they  proceed 
to  lay  down;  singing. 

Down  beyant  the  orchard,  there’s  a  green,  green 
grove  .  .  . 

Ho  there !  Cuckoo  !  Hi  there !  Cuckoo ! 

[Talking.]  There  we  are.  We  haven’t  spared  elbow 
grease.  It’s  as  handsome,  bright  and  smooth  as  a 
polished  floor.  A  wedding  party  could  dance  on  it. 
...  Hi !  you  dawdlers !  Are  you  ready  ?  And  you, 
too.  Jack  Lazy  Bones,  come  and  give  a  hand. 

THE  DIPLOMATS  on  either  side  of 
the  ravine. 

Stop,  you  wretches  !  .  .  .  Here !  Halt,  gentlemen ! 
Heavens,  what  are  you  thinking  of?  .  .  .  Lord  love 
us,  what  do  you  mean  to  do? 

THE  WORKMEN 

What  are  we  doing,  pudding  head?  Have  you  lost 
your  eyes  ?  [To  a  man  in  a  monocle.]  Put  a  second  win¬ 
dow-pane  in;  perhaps  you’ll  see  better.  .  .  .  What  a 
calf  the  man  must  be  who  doesn’t  see  what  we’re 
doing.  [Singing.]  Hey  ho!  Sing  cuckoo!  Hey  ho!  that 
we’re  making  a  bridge. 

THE  DIPLOMATS  lifting  up  their 
hands  in  horror. 

A  bridge?  ...  A  bridge!  .  .  .  They’re  making  a 
bridge!  ...  a  bridge! 


n 


THE  WORKMEN  laughing  at  them. 
"London  Bridge  is  broken  down.”  "Dance  over,  my 
Lady  Lee.” 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

Great  God!  and  what  are  you  making  a  bridge  for? 
THE  WORKMEN 

To  get  across,  old  boy.  "London  Bridge  is  broken 
down” — us  and  our  Mr.  Grunter. 

They  dig  them  in  the  stomach, 
imitating  the  grunting  of  a 
Pig- 
73 


THE  DIPLOMATS 

By  what  right?  In  whose  name?  Did  yon  ask  for 
authorization  ? 

THE  WORKMEN 

To  do  what?  To  dance  round  the  mulberry  bush, 
eh?  And  whose  authorization?  I  authorize  myself. 
If  I  want  to  let  fly  I  let  fly. 

THE  DIPLOMATS  very  starchy- 
necked. 

Without  a  permit?  That’s  an  offense!  Forbear! 
In  a  State  that  is  well  ordered  whatever  is  not  per¬ 
mitted  is  interdict.  You  must  have  papers  for  every¬ 
thing,  signed,  stamped  and  initialed.  If  it  were  not 
for  official  documents,  there  would  be  no  distinction 
between  man  and  the  beasts.  Let  us  then  officially- 
documentarize.  As  for  the  said  bridge,  have  the 
forms  and  usages  been  observed,  the  laws,  the  Consti¬ 
tution  and  the  regulations  of  the  Administration? 

THE  WORKMEN 

Usages  be  blowed!  And  as  for  forms,  we’ll  just 
sit  on  them. 

He  sits  on  the  top  hat  of  one 
of  the  diplomats. 

THE  OTHER  WORKMEN 

No,  no,  not  that.  Colas!  There  must  be  forms. 
He’s  right.  One  can’t  live,  eat,  sleep,  marry,  dance 
and  die  like  a  pig.  There  must  be  forms;  it’s  forms 
that  make  you  proud  of  being  a  man. 

74 


THE  DIPLOMATS 

Our  first  care,  therefore,  when  the  bridge  is  made, 
must  be  to  .  .  .  prevent  anyone  crossing  it,  to  put  up 
a  turnstile.  Two  sentinels  at  the  two  ends.  Customs 
House  officers.  Notice:  fines,  prohibitions,  contraven¬ 
tion,  declaration,  duties  and  excise.  .  .  .  Look,  look, 
that’s  all  much  better.  .  .  .  How  a  mere  nothing 
proves  enough,  if  it’s  arranged  with  taste!  The  pic¬ 
ture  looks  much  less  woolly  already.  Let  us  add  four 
doctors  to  vaccinate  and  inoculate  all  who  cross  with 
cholera,  influenza,  plague,  mange,  grippe,  ring-worm, 
syphilis,  hydrophobia,  scab,  et  cetera.  .  .  .  Further¬ 
more,  fourteen  delegates  from  the  Censor’s  office  to 
check,  chop,  unstick,  disinfect  and  spy  on  all  written 
matter;  they  are  the  doctors  of  the  soul.  .  .  .  That’s 
not  all;  we  must  next  make  sure  that  the  construc¬ 
tion  is  strong  enough  to  bear  .  .  .  what  it  has  to  bear. 

THE  WORKMEN 

Strong  enough?  Our  bridge?  You  could  go  across, 
three  men,  four  women  and  five  geese  abreast. 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

Men!  It  isn’t  a  question  of  men.  The  question 
with  a  proper  bridge  is,  in  primis:  that  cannons  can 
pass  over  it! 

THE  WORKMEN 

Cannons?  Why?  To  shoot  partridges,  or  wild 
boars,  or  what? 


75 


THE  DIPLOMATS  peremptorily. 

No  reason.  Jnst  to  try. 

THE  FAT  MEN  with  authority. 

It’s  always  done. 

THE  THIN  MEN  resignedly. 

Then  it  must  be  done,  I  suppose. 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

That  isn’t  all.  Before  traffic  can  be  authorized  to 
pass,  there  must  be  pronounced,  in  the  name  of  the 
state,  of  the  nation,  the  law  cats  and  the  brass  hats 
of  the  Church,  the  lumpkins,  the  pumpkins  and  the 
Royal  Academy  bumpkins,  certain  palavers  or  dis¬ 
courses. 

THE  WORKMEN 

What  for?  For  the  heavy  weight  test? 

THE  DIPLOMATS  peremptorily. 

What  for?  Why,  to  talk.  That  is  man’s  great¬ 
ness.  Talking  in  order  to  say  nothing.  Saying  some¬ 
thing  in  order  to  do  nothing — to  prevent  anything 
from  being  done. 

THE  FAT  MEN  with  authority. 

Let  us  be  noble.  And  you  fellows,  get  busy,  raise 
for  us  a  platform! 

THE  THIN  MEN  resignedly. 

Let’s  build  them  a  perch,  then — a  driveling-place  to 
chatter  from. 

They  erect  a  rostrum  at  the 
entry  of  the  bridge. 

76 


1 

A  WORKMAN 

I’m  quite  happy  they  should  chatter,  but  as  for  lis¬ 
tening  to  them,  no!  I’m  in  a  hurry,  I  have  my  busi¬ 
ness,  I  want  to  cross. 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

Back!  No  one  may  cross  a  bridge  before  the  in¬ 
auguration. 

THE  WORKMEN 

Will  it  take  long? 

THE  DIPLOMATS 

It  will  take  as  long  as  is  proper. 

THE  THIN  MEN  resignedly. 

O,  well,  everything  must  end  by  coming  to  an  end. 

POLONIUS  mounts  the  rostrum. 

Dear  fellow  citizens,  brothers  of  both  banks,  of 
this  bank  and  the  other  and  of  yet  a  third  (I  don’t 
know  if  there  is  one;  but  it  doesn’t  matter.  .  .  .)  All 
men  are  but  a  single  body.  Men  and  women  .  .  . 
[A  guffaw.]  In  all  modesty,  all  honor,  I  speak.  I 
come  here  to  give  my  blessing  to  this  future  union. 
The  future  is  not  to-morrow.  By  no  means,  no,  un¬ 
derstand  me  well.  That  is  what  makes  it  so  charm¬ 
ing,  so  unexacting,  so  little  troublesome.  A  good  sub¬ 
ject  for  toasts  and  after-dinner  speeches.  I  know  all 
about  it.  I  am  a  delegate  of  the  Peace  Congress.  .  .  . 
[He  introduces  himself.]  Polonius,  Modeste-Napoleon. 
Napoleon  is  my  Christian  name.  Modeste  was  add- 

77 


ed  so  as  not  to  frighten  people;  I  am  a  simple*  kindly 
man.  You  see  my  ribbons*  my  decorations.  [He  shows 
them.] 

There’s  the  order  of  Kamschatka  now*  with  the 
Kattegat;  here  is  the  Karatschi  and  the  Gaurisanka. 
[He  turns  round  and  shows  his  back.]  I  have  more  there. 
[He  turns  back  again,  satisfied.]  I  speak  in  all  honor*  all 
modesty.  It  commits  one  to  nothing.  Well*  then*  my 
friends,  my  brothers — my  brothers  of  to-morrow*  or 

78 


rather  of  the  day  after  to-morrow — I  have  come  to 
pay  my  tribute  to  this  bridge,  this  bridge,  this  pro¬ 
digious  bridge,  this  bridge  so  long  and  pompous  .  .  • 

ALL  HANDS 

Abridge,  abridge !  .  .  . 

POLONIUS 

This  bridge  of  love  and  alliance  which  stretches 
through  the  air  like  a  rainbow  in  the  firmament. 
Touching  symbol  of  the  great  day  that  is  to  come  (it 
will  come  !  it  will  come !  .  .  .  but  don’t  let  us  be  in  any 
hurry!)  when  States  shall  disarm,  when  the  walls 
shall  crumble,  the  walls  of  those  prisons — those  na¬ 
tions — when  peoples  shall  fall  into  one  another’s 
arms,  when  the  ravening  wolf  and  the  gentle  lamb 
shall  crop  the  grass  of  the  meadow  side  by  side, 
casting  sweet  eyes  at  one  another,  when  the  workers 
shall  have  a  long  snooze  every  morning,  when  the  rich 
shall  share  their  beds  and  their  cellars  with  the  work¬ 
men,  when  arms,  armies  and  treaties  shall  be  put  away 
in  the  museum,  and  to  the  museum  the  concession- 
mongers,  governors  and  contractors — when  hens  shall 
have  teeth.  .  .  .  The  day  will  come,  will  come,  in¬ 
deed  it  will !  But  we  haven’t  got  there  yet.  Advance 
must  come  step  by  step.  We  make  no  rash  preten¬ 
sions  that  we’re  going  to  deprive  you,  before  the  hour 
has  struck,  of  war,  poverty,  business  and  land  sharks. 
The  birch  is  a  necessary  evil  for  children.  Young 
folks  must  pass.  Let  us  pass  it  by,  scratching  our¬ 
selves  in  the  process. 


79 


THE  ASS  rolling  on  the  ground. 

Hee-haw !  Hee-haw ! 

POLONIUS 

The  point,  then,  my  good  friends,  in  these  happy 
days  in  which  we  live  is  to  choose,  like  the  rabbit, 
with  what  sance  you  wish  your  giblets  stewed.  Do 
you  prefer  being  slaughtered  above  ground,  under 
ground,  in  the  air  or  in  the  water?  (For  my  part,  I 
don't  like  water;  good  wine  is  more  in  my  line.)  Do 
you  long  to  get  in  the  belly  a  round  bullet  or  a  pointed 
one,  brown  or  plated,  shrapnel,  shell-splinter,  crump 
or  bomb,  or  rather  the  good  cold  steel,  which  is  clean 
and  pleasant?  Which  would  you  like  best,  to  be  dis¬ 
emboweled,  broiled,  punctured,  squashed,  boiled, 
roasted,  or — the  last  fashion — electrocuted?  We  will 
deny  you  nothing.  We  only  draw  the  line,  for  your 
own  good,  at  the  barbarous,  the  common — at  subma¬ 
rines  and  stinking  gases ;  in  a  word,  badly-bred  death 
and  uncivilized  war.  But  you’ll  lose  nothing  by  that. 
We  police  war.  Let  us  polish  it,  gentlemen,  and  re¬ 
polish  it!  What  should  we  be  without  war?  It  is 
through  war  that  peace  has  its  price.  And  it  is  by 
means  of  war  that  we  are  building  up  in  saecula  per 
pocula  the  Society  of  Nations.  For  everything  hangs 
together;  follow  me  carefully.  Without  nations,  there 
could  be  no  Society  of  Nations.  And  no  nation,  no 
war!  No  war,  no  nation !  Well,  then,  all  is  very  well 
and  will  be  much  better.  Count  on  us!  Give  us  a 


80 


free  hand.  We  know  so  well  how  to  mix  black  and 
white,  right  and  might,  peace  and  war,  concocting 
war-like  peaces  and  peace-bringing  wars;  we  shall 
embellish  nature  for  you  so  skillfully  that  you  won’t 
be  able  to  recognize  her  at  all. 

THE  CROWD 

Bravo!  Very  fine,  Old  Polo,  Napo!  Old  Skin! 
What  gibble-gabble !  His  gullet’s  as  swollen  with 
words  as  a  bagpipe. 

Polonius  tries  to  go  on,  but 
his  voice  is  drowned  by  the 
noise  of  the  crowd  and  the 
rumble  of  passing  wheels. 


81 


POLICHINELLO 

What  a  row!  One  can’t  hear  oneself  speak!  .  .  • 
What  are  they  dragging? 

THE  FAT  MEN 

The  cannons.  Come,  get  down,  Polonius !  You’ve 
harked  enough  for  to-day!  Now  it’s  time  to  dance. 

In  fact,  during  the  last  part 
of  Polonius’s  speech,  a  number  of  cannon,  garlanded,  be- 
ribboned  or  covered  with  foliage,  have  been  trundled  up 
from  either  side  of  the  ravine. 

THE  PEDDLERS 

Arbalistas,  stone-throwers,  sugar-handbake,  steel 
plums,  indiarubber  balls,  oranges  and  grenades,  dy¬ 
namite,  barley  syrup.  .  .  . 

A  VOICE  from  the  other  side  of 
the  ravine. 

Hullo  there! 

THE  PEDDLERS 

Here  we  are,  sir,  here ! 

On  a  double  cord  thrown 
across  the  ravine  they  send  over,  by  means  of  an  arrange¬ 
ment  of  pulleys,  bales  and  barrels  in  exchange  for  cash. 

POLICHINELLO 

I  thought  there  was  to  be  no  more  crossing. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

Only  for  people,  sir.  Money  always  crosses.  Money 
needs  no<  bridge.  Mercury  has  always  had  wings  on 
his  heels.  [To  the  workmen,  pointing  to  the  people  on  the 
other  bank.]  Look,  gentlemen,  look  over  there ;  it’s  ap- 

82 


palling.  They’re  armed  to  the  teeth.  Cannons  and 
catapults,  muzzles  pointing,  ready  to  spit,  their  pow¬ 
der  dry  and  their  cord  oiled.  Halberds,  muskets,  a 
forest  of  surging  arms.  My  flesh  creeps,  creeps  at 
the  sight.  Prepare !  It’s  against  us. 

THE  WORKMEN 

No  it  isn’t,  old  fool.  They’re  playing.  We’re  do¬ 
ing  just  the  same. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

They’re  doing  much  more.  Count,  count !  Ah !  the 
brigands !  They  have  seventy-one  rifles,  while  we 
have  only  threescore  and  ten. 

THE  WORKMEN 

But  we  have  twenty-seven  catapults  against  their 
twenty-six. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

Silence !  Stop  him !  .  .  .  The  wretch !  He  is  be¬ 
traying  the  secrets  of  the  defense. 

THE  WORKMEN 

Defense  against  whom?  We’re  all  good  comrades. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

O,  impious,  impious!  Abject  creatures,  can  you 
be  so  far  degraded  that  you  don’t  know  how  to  hate 
your  enemies? 

THE  WORKMEN 

Faith,  no!  I  neither  love  nor  hate  you. 

83 


THE  FAT  MEN 

Men  without  a  country!  Can't  you  read?  It  is 
written:  “Your  enemies  are  the  robbers  who  don’t 
belong  here.” 

THE  WORKMEN 

And  what  about  the  robbers  here? 

THE  FAT  MEN 

The  game  is  preserved  here.  I  have  a  license  to 
shoot. 

THE  WORKMEN 

I  don’t  see  the  difference  if  I’m  fleeced  here  or 
there. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

There’s  a  very  great  difference. 

THE  WORKMEN 

Yes,  certainly  for  you. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

Would  you  rather  be  fleeced  here  and  there  also? 
Listen  a  bit:  isn’t  it  better  that  we  should  rob  you  in 
a  friendly  way,  all  in  the  family,  leaving  you  for  de¬ 
cency’s  sake  the  breeches  to  your  back?  Rather  than 
to  see  them  adorning  an  alien’s  behind?  Understand, 
my  lad:  that  you  should  be  plucked,  that  is  good, 
very  good,  and  we  have  no  fault  to  find;  it’s  the  law 
of  nature,  the  Law.  But  the  law  doesn’t  demand 
that  a  goose  should  be  plucked  twice.  Why  the  devil 
do  you  want  to  be?  Upon  my  word  I  speak  as  your 
good  friend;  I  am  standing  up  for  your  rights.  Don’t 

84 


you  find  it  hard  enough,  as  it  is,  to  live  here  ?  Are  you 
mad?  What  giddy  folly  has  seized  you  that  you 
want  to  invite  competitors  into  your  fields?  They 
will  take  everything.  We’re  already  beginning  to 
suffocate  among  ourselves;  why,  it’s  almost  impos¬ 
sible  to  stir  on  the  road.  If  other  people  come,  no¬ 
body  will  be  able  to  walk  at  all. 

THE  THIN  MEN 

What  he  says  is  very  true.  We’re  not  fat,  but  we’re 
already  packed  as  tight  as  sardines  in  a  tin.  Where 
shall  we  put  these  whales? 

THE  WORKMEN 

The  world  is  a  large  place.  What  a  yarn!  There 
is  no  lack  of  roads.  If  need  be,  we’ll  cut  some  more. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

No,  no,  there  is  only  one,  and  that’s  ours.  It’s 
the  only  good  one,  the  only  one  that  leads  straight. 
The  first  at  the  goal  will  be  king;  he’ll  be  able  to  take 
everything  and  the  rest  can  tighten  their  belts.  Much 
you’ll  be  able,  with  those  beasts,  to  dispute  the  bone 
they  will  have  seized! 

THE  THIN  MEN 

Greedy  brutes !  What  an  appetite !  They  do 
nothing  but  gorge  and  guzzle.  They  eat  into  every¬ 
thing.  They’re  like  caterpillars.  The  devil!  if  they 
get  across  they’ll  gobble  us  down  alive.  .  .  .  Ooh! 
what  are  they  doing?  They’re  coming!  .  .  .  The 

85 


enemy!  Stop.  .  .  .  -Save  yourselves!  ...  To  arms! 
.  .  .  Barricade  the  bridge !  .  .  .  Shut  the  gates !  .  .  . 
Bring  up  the  cannons ! 

THE  HURLUBERLOCHES  from  the  oth¬ 
er  side. 

Hi,  there!  What  do  they  want?  They  mean  to 
invade  us!  To  arms!  Fall  on  them! 

THE  FAT  MEN 

See  now!  What  did  I  tell  you?  They  meant  to 
take  us  by  surprise. 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 

Swine ! 

THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 

Toads ! 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 

Lubbers ! 

THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 
Stink-pots ! 

CERTAIN  WORKMEN 

You’re  all  idiots.  To  begin  with,  explain  what  it’s 
all  about. 

THE  FAT  MEN 

No  explanations.  They  mobilized  before  we  dicL 

THE  WORKMEN  to  their  fellows  on 
the  other  side. 

Comrades,  let  us  disarm. 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 
Put  down  your  arms,  murderer! 

8€ 


THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 
Put  them  down  yourself,  ruffian! 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 
You  first! 

THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 
First  you! 

ALL 

Not  such  fools  as  all  that! 

POLICHINELLO,  laughing. 

The  idiots ! 

THE  FAT  MEN 

The  rogues  were  only  waiting  for  us  to  disarm  to 
fall  upon  us. 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 
You  stupids!  Your  trick  is  stitched  with  white 
thread;  one  can  see  it  twenty  yards  away.  Ah, 
skunks!  .  .  . 


THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 
Don't  come  near! 


THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 
Back  with  you! 

THE  THIN  HURLUBERLOCHES 
I’ll  chew  your  nose  off! 

THE  THIN  GALLIPOULETS 
I’ll  stick  you  in  the  gizzard! 

87 


MASTER-GOD  his  voice  is  audible 
in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  be¬ 
fore  he  can  be  seen. 

Wait!  My  presence  is  the  only  thing  wanting  at 
your  festival.  Where  the  cannons  are,  there  am  I. 
Present  arms !  Open  your  ranks !  .  .  .  Excuse  me, 
my  children,  excuse  me;  it’s  me,  it’s  God.  Let  me 
pass. 

He  makes  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  which  falls  back  to  let 
him  pass. 


THE  CROWD  OF  GALLIPOULETS 
It  is  God !  God  has  come !  God  is  among  us !  God 
is  for  us !  God  is  ours ! 


88 


The  crowd  has  fallen  into  line 
and  Master-God  is  seen  advancing,  wearing  Gallipoulet  uni¬ 
form,  epaulettes,  gold  braid  and  all,  over  his  white  robe — 
which  makes  him  look  like  a  sapper.  Behind  him,  carried 
on  a  throne  in  the  midst  of  the  Dervishes  and  the  Very-Fat, 
is  Truth.  She  almost  disappears  under  the  heavy,  stiff, 
gold-embroidered  chasuble  that  hides  her  arms;  her  head 
droops  under  the  weight  of  a  massive  tiara;  a  bright  metal¬ 
lic  veil  covers  her  nose,  mouth  and  chin  as  though  she  were 
an  Arab  woman:  her  eyes  alone  are  free.  With  every  ap¬ 
pearance  of  veneration,  the  Very-Fat  uphold  the  train  of 
her  long  Byzantine  mantle  and  the  gold  and  silver  cords  at¬ 
tached  to  it.  She  is  closely  escorted  by  a  bodyguard,  bus- 
solanti,  journalists  and  diplomats,  who  allow  no  one  to  come 
near,  and  keep  off  the  gapers. 

MASTER-GOD 

Yes,  my  friends,  I  am  yours,  wholly  at  your  serv¬ 
ice,  myself,  my  relations,  my  servants  and  my  lady 
[He  bows  his  head.]  — the  lady  Truth,  your  queen  and 
servant.  Since  one  is  your  God,  it  is  our  duty  to  obey 
you.  And,  God’s  truth,  I  love  you;  one  is  very  com¬ 
fortable  staying  in  your  house;  the  food  is  good; 
therefore  your  cause  could  not  be  bad.  You  laugh 
at  me  sometimes,  I  admit;  but  I  can  laugh  too,  and 
I  can  appreciate  the  worth  of  a  good  joke.  Laugh 
away,  my  sons ;  you’ll  pay  for  it  later  all  the  more ;  in 
the  end  you’re  as  meek  as  sheep.  I  love  you,  we  love 
one  another,  we’re  as  thick  as  thieves.  Therefore, 
since  the  time  has  come  to  take,  let  us  take.  But  first 
a  little  idealism !  The  booty  will  seem  the  more  valu¬ 
able  for  that.  Attention,  please;  for  I  am  beginning. 
.  .  .  Your  possessions,  my  friends,  are  sacred;  so 

89 


will  other  people's  be  when  they  become  yours,  for 
you  have  Truth  on  your  side  (you  can  see  her:  she’s 
veiled  so  as  not  to  spoil  her  complexion) ;  and  along 
with  her  you  have  Right,  Might,  Liberty,  Authority, 
Money  and  the  Virtues  (who,  prudent  girls,  never 
marry  a  beggar).  Capital  and  the  Ideal,  the  Spirit 
that  flies,  hands  that  filch — in  a  word,  the  monopoly 
of  Civilization.  Everything  about  you  is  holy,  holy, 
and  you  are  holy  little  saints  yourselves.  Conse¬ 
quently  anyone  who  attacks  you  is  accursed  and  yon 
may  suppress  him:  'tis  an  act  of  piety.  Now  it  is 
obvious  that  you  are  being  attacked:  Truth  has  the 
proofs  in  a  sealed  envelope:  but  we  mayn’t  show 
them  you:  it’s  a  secret.  Besides,  it  would  really  be 
undignified  to  discuss  them:  you  are  in  the  right;  yon 
have  all  the  trumps  in  your  hand;  so  you  ought  to  be 
attacked.  And  attacked  you  are.  Attack  away,  then; 
you  will  only  be  doing  so  to  defend  yourselves.  What 
say  I,  yourselves  alone?  You  will  be  defending  Jus¬ 
tice,  the  Virtues  and  myself,  by  God !  whom  you  rep¬ 
resent — I  am  not  being  modest — far  better  than  We 
could  ever  do.  On  then,  courage,  kill,  kill!  For 
that  is  war.  It  is  quite  true  that  in  my  books  it  is 
written:  “Thou  shalt  not  kill.  Love  thy  neighbor." 
But  the  enemy  is  not  your  neighbor.  And  defending 
oneself  isn’t  killing.  It’s  only  a  matter  of  coming 
to  a  proper  understanding  of  the  question.  My  serv¬ 
ants  are  here  to  set  your  hearts  at  rest.  Cheerily, 
cheerily !  my  sons,  come  on ;  let’s  fight ! 

90 


ONE  OF  THE  THIN  MEN 
But,  my  Lord,  here’s  Truth.  Why  does  Truth 
not  speak? 

MASTER-GOD 

She’s  afraid  of  the  air,  my  dear  child.  Her  throat 
is  delicate  and  she  has  toothache.  But  if  you  care 
to  ask  one  of  these  gentlemen  carrying  her,  the  jour¬ 
nalists  of  the  escort,  they  know  her  from  top  to  toe; 
they  have  viewed  her  between  a  pair  of  sheets. 


Truth  suddenly  stands  upright 
on  her  platform.  By  a  violent  effort  she  has  succeeded  in 
throwing  off  her  cope  which  falls  back  on  the  back  of  the 
throne.  She  appears,  her  brown  body  half  naked,  her  arms 
behind  her  back,  hands  and  feet  bound.  The  veil  covering 
the  lower  part  of  her  face  falls;  the  dramatic  gipsy  face 
appears,  a  gag  over  the  mouth.  Standing  there  motionless, 
she  gives  the  impression  of  a  wild  force  struggling  against 
its  bonds.  Confusion  among  the  escort. 

MASTER-GOD  precipitately. 

Quick !  hide  it !  hide !  [To  the  people.]  My  sons,  you 
must  not  look.  Lower  your  eyes !  Anyone  who  sees 
Truth  naked  will  become  a  cuckold  if  a  man,  and  if 
a  girl  will  be  struck  dumb.  Look  out  for  yourselves! 
Half-right — Turn ! 

All  turn  half-right  at  the  word 
of  command.  They  turn  their  backs  on  Truth,  or  hide  their 
faces  in  their  hands.  Naturally,  here  and  there,  there  are 
a  few  girls  and  peeping  Toms  who  look  between  their  fin¬ 
gers.  The  throne  is  lowered  to  the  ground  and  the  busso- 
lanti,  laying  heavy  hands  on  Truth’s  bare  brown  shoulders, 
force  her  to  sit  down  again. 

MASTER-GOD  drawing  near,  in  a 
whisper. 

Shameless  hussy !  [To  the  bussolanti.]  Trice  her  up 
better  this  time !  [To  Truth.]  What,  aren’t  you  content 
with  your  gilded  chains? 

Truth  is  tied  fast — ever  so  re¬ 
spectfully,  of  course — to  the  back  of  her  seat.  The  chasu¬ 
ble  is  ceremoniously  replaced  on  her  shoulders.  After  which 
the  bussolanti,  journalists,  etc.,  take  three  steps  to  the  rear, 
make  several  genuflexions  and  a  deep  bow  before  the  idol 
and  finally  take  their  places  once  more  around  the  now  up¬ 
lifted  throne.  Throughout  this  scene,  silence.  The  crowd  is 
motionless  and  as  though  petrified. 

92 


MASTER-GOD 


Look  out  for  yourselves!  .  .  .  Now,  my  children, 
you  may  look. 


The  whole  crowd  turns  round. 


THE  CROWD  transported  with  joy, 
waving  hats,  handkerchiefs, 
palms  and  umbrellas. 

Long  live  Truth! 

The  procession  solemnly 
marches  on.  Polichinello,  whose  existence  has  been  forgot¬ 
ten  by  everyone,  has  perched  himself  on  a  pointed  rock, 
from  which  he  has  been  surveying  the  whole  scene  in  silence, 
but  not  without  grimaces  and  contortions.  Suddenly  he 
bursts  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  frantic,  shrill,  infectious,  that 
pierces  the  noise  of  the  crowd.  All  looks  turn  in  his  direc¬ 
tion.  And  little  by  little,  without  understanding  why,  the 
whole  crowd  begins  to  laugh  as  he  does,  a  Homeric  laugh, 
that  drowns  everything  else.  .  .  . 


MASTER-GOD  vexed,  shaking  his 
fist  at  Polichinello. 

You  scrubby  fellow!  .  .  .  He  makes  me  lose  all 
my  effects.  [He  checks  himself  and  blesses  him.]  My  son, 
blessed,  blessed.  .  .  . 

The  procession  passes  in  a 
storm  of  singing  and  shouting. 

POLICHINELLO  to  Truth. 

Be  at  rest,  cousin,  my  poor  muzzled  cousin !  I  can 
hear  your  cry  behind  the  gag,  beneath  the  veil  I  can 
see  your  teeth  biting  the  torn  gag.  They  tie  you  up, 
but  they  have  to  take  you  along.  They  are  afraid  of 
their  prisoner,  and  your  silence  speaks  louder  than 

93 


their  big  words.  Laugh,  cousin.  Let  us  laugh !  We 
shall  get  the  better  of  them! 

The  procession  moves  towards 
the  bridge. 

THE  CROWD 

Where  are  you  off  to?  .  .  .  They’re  going!  .  .  . 
Stop  !  .  .  . 

MASTER-GOD 

Let  us  pass,  please. 

POLICHINELLO 

“O  never  leave  me,  O  don’t  deceive  me  !’* 

MASTER-GOD 

Don’t  be  disturbed.  My  sons,  my  very  dear  sons, 
it  is  my  duty,  as  your  God,  to  be  the  first  to  pass  the 
bridge.  They  need  a  good  sermon.  I’m  going  to  give 
these  sons  of  darkness  a  thorough  dressing  down.  I 
shall  crush  them  beneath  the  light  of  Truth  and 
Right,  and  let  fly  at  their  ant-hill  with  the  jet  of  my 
thunder-bolts.  Open  your  ranks!  It  will  only  take 
a  moment. 

Part  of  the  procession  ad¬ 
vances  on  to  the  bridge.  The 
other  part — journalists,  diplo¬ 
mats — remains  at  the  entrance. 

THE  HURLUBERLOCHIAN  SENTRIES 

Nv  crossing.  Wer  da? 

MASTER-GOD 

Der  Herr  Gott.  Here’s  my  passport. 

94 


THE  SENTRIES 

Der  Alte  Gatt!  .  .  .  The  passport  is  quite  in  or¬ 
der.  Make  way  for  our  old  God. 

MASTER-GOD 

Holla  !  My  lord  chamberlain ! 

POLICHINELLO  from  his  coign  of 

vantage. 

What  is  he  doing?  He’s  undressing  again. 

With  the  assistance  of  his 
chamberlain  Master-God  nimbly  takes  off  his  Gallipoulet 
uniform;  he  appears  dressed  in  another  uniform  with  a 
pointed  turban  on  his  head.  Toward  him  advances  an  es¬ 
cort  of  high  and  mighty  Hurluberlochian  lords  in  turbans 
of  the  same  style. 


THE  SENTRIES  announcing  them. 
His  Majesty  the  Grand  Khan — Khan  Willy  Khan 
— the  Khan  of  Khans! 

Master-God  goes  to  meet  the 
Grand  Khan  of  the  Hurluber- 
loches.  They  embrace. 

MASTER-GOD  AND  THE  GRAND  KHAN 
My  son.  .  .  .  My  brother.  .  .  .  My  uncle.  .  .  . 
My  cousin.  .  .  .  My  comrade. 

After  much  exchange  of  salu¬ 
tations  they  swap  turbans  and  embrace  again,  laughing. 
Master-God  then  leads  the  Grand  Khan  to  the  feet  of  Truth 
where  she  sits  chained  on  her  throne,  which  has  been  set 
down  on  the  ground  and  is  surrounded  by  a  new  band  of 
bearers.  The  Grand  Khan  makes  a  low  bow  before  her,  then, 
turning  toward  Master-God,  speaks  to  him  in  a  whisper, 
pointing  to  his  eyes,  to  the  sky  and  toward  Truth.  Master- 
God  moves  his  chin  in  assent,  without  desisting  from  smiling 

95 


in  his  own  majestic  and  genial  manner;  then  addresses 
Truth’s  new  escort. 

MASTER-GOD 

Yes,  the  light  is  strong.  .  .  .  Blindfold  her.  It's 
healthier  for  the  eyes. 

Truth’s  eyes  are  blindfolded, 
and  for  greater  security  her  head  is  covered  with  another 
thick,  black  veil.  In  this  guise  she  looks  like  a  condemned 
prisoner  being  led  to  the  sea  if  old.  This  done,  the  two  Lords 
go  off  side  by  side,  followed  by  Truth  on  her  throne  and 
by  her  escort,  the  whole  troop  surrounded  by  Hurluberlo- 
chian  soldiers  in  turbans,  marching  as  though  on  parade. 
Music  ditto. 

THE  CROWD  OF  GALLIPOULETS  in  con¬ 
sternation  at  the  fact  of  Mas¬ 
ter-God’s  disappearance. 

He's  going! 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH 

Not  a  bit  of  it!  Don’t  cry!  He’s  present  every¬ 
where.  He’s  here  and  there. 

THE  GALLIPOULETS  in  despair. 

He  has  gone,  gone !  My  eyes  have  seen  it,  seen  it. 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH  scornfully. 

Seen  it !  A  good  proof  that  should  be !  .  .  .  My 
children,  you  should  never  believe  in  what  you  see. 

THE  GALLIPOULETS 

What  should  one  believe  in,  then? 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH 

In  the  Voice !  Listen !  The  Voice  is  still  with  us. 

96 


MASTER-GOD’S  VOICE  in  a  gramo¬ 
phone. 

‘‘Children,  I  am  here.  Honor  your  dervish*  ” 

THE  GALLIPOULETS 
A  miracle!  [They  prostrate  themselves.] 

ONE  OF  THE  THIN  MEN 
But  why  has  he  gone  over  to  the  enemy? 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH 

To  show  you  the  way.  Run,  fly  after  him! 

The  peoples,  in  their  state  of 
over-excitement,  throng  round  either  end  of  the  bridge,  co- 


piously  abusing  one  another,  but  each  remaining  prudently 
at  the  entry,  hesitating  to  advance. 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH  turning  to¬ 
ward  the  Fat-of-Fats,  the 
Diplomats,  the  Journalists, 
etc. 

To  your  posts,  gentlemen !  The  time  has  come  for 
singing.  Poets,  philosophers,  dry-as-dusts,  pedants, 
penny-a-liners  and  literary  men,  lords  of  the  inkhorn, 
you  whose  blood  bears  a  flood  of  generous  ink,  come 
now,  complete  the  chorus !  Let  there  be  no  one  heard 
but  you.  Fly  on  your  best  goose  quills,  fly  to  the 
rescue  of  Right!  Holy  guardians  of  the  capitol, 
blow,  blow  your  clarion  notes !  Be  Brutuses,  be  Ca¬ 
tos  !  Immolate  all  for  the  Fatherland — all  except 
your  lives,  for  you  must  be  left  to  sing  of  those  you 
kill.  All  honor  to  those  magnificent  voices  of  yours 
that  crucify  and  resurrect,  that  make  corpses  and  he¬ 
roes  !  ...  In  the  baser  ranks  let  us  put  the  counter¬ 
basses  :  theologians,  metaphysicians — my  1 8-inch  how¬ 
itzers,  who  crash  upon  the  barbarians,  the  Jack  John¬ 
sons  of  the  absolute  and  the  aerial  torpedoes  of  the 
ideal!  .  .  .  Above  them  come  the  baritones — the  his¬ 
torians,  the  jurists,  all  the  skillful  camouflagers  of  the 
Law  and  the  Past.  Let  us  also  have  a  few  ministers, 
economists  and  the  big  industrial  journalists  to  send 
up  the  munition  shares.  A  few  Secretaries  of  State: 
they  sing  out  of  tune;  but  the  croak  of  a  bird  with 
fine  feathers  sounds  always  sweet.  .  .  .  And  now  my 

98 


contraltos  and  tenors — the  writers  of  every  sex  or  of 
— no  sex  (they  will  be  the  sopranos) :  the  Amazons 
of  the  pen  who,  like  their  grandmother  Venus,  burn 
for  Mars;  and  the  despised  poets  who,  in  their  effort 
to  regain  lost  love  and  lost  laurels,  are  all  dressed  up 
as  warriors.  .  .  .  Ah!  how  handsome  they  are,  my 
military  men,  quinquagenarians,  tight-laced,  be-med- 
aled,  marking  time!  .  .  .  Left,  right;  left,  right! 
Keep  in  step !  They’re  regular  thunderbolts — on  pa¬ 
rade.  What  will  they  be  like  in  a  battle?  But  fortu¬ 
nately — I  breathe  again — they  don’t  fight.  They  are 
the  guards,  and,  wisely,  they  remember  that  the 
guard’s  first  duty  is  to  guard  itself.’  All  honor  to 
the  men  of  duty!  .  .  .  Finally,  on  top,  at  their  posts 
among  the  timbrels  and  cymbals,  we  shall  place  the 
fanatics,  the  mystics,  the  Mad  Mullahs  of  journalism; 
they  can  be  delirious  to  order,  can  bark  away  for  so 
much  the  yelp,  and  with  their  howling  rouse  the  old 
instinct  in  the  sleeping  crowd,  the  lust  of  blood.  .  .  . 
As  soloists,  one  Socialist  and  one  Catholic  shall  sing 
a  duet  to  celebrate  the  virtues  according  to  the  Church 
and  the  Councils.  They  are  not  of  the  same  brew. 
But  what  matters  the  wine,  so  long  as  it  has  no  water 
in  it!  And  what  matters  the  vintage  so  long  as  men 
believe  and  drink? 

POLONIUS 

And  what  about  us?  What  about  us?  We’ve  been 
forgotten. 


99 


THE  GRAND  DERVISH 

Patience,  my  bellipacifists !  In  the  amphitheater  a 
seat  of  honor  is  reserved  for  Polonius ! 

While  the  Intellectuals  tune 
their  instruments  and  their  vocal  cords,  not  without  conse¬ 
quential  airs  and  much  noise,  the  troops  are  massing  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bridge.  Illusion  appears. 

LILULI  bending  over  the  sleep¬ 
ing  Altair, 

Altair,  my  sweetheart!  Come  now,  sleepy  head! 

ALTAIR  wakes  up. 

Liluli! 

LILULI 

Pretty  one,  the  time  has  come. 

ALTAIR 

How  good  it  is  on  this  bed !  What  marvelous 
dreams !  Your  arms  embraced  me,  your  hair  envel¬ 
oped  me,  I  held  you  between  my  knees,  and  we  floated 
intertwined,  like  two  seaplants  twined  together  and 
trembling  in  the  undertow.  The  current  swept  me 
away  with  you,  my  beloved — away  toward  what  new 
happiness  ? 

LILULI 

Toward  a  greater,  a  lovelier  happiness.  My  love, 
to-day  you  will  prove  whether  you  really  know  how 
to  love  me.  The  lover  who  has  received  all  still  pos¬ 
sesses  nothing.  Always  the  best  thing  in  love  is  what 
one  gives.  He  who  gives  not  himself  completely  re¬ 
mains  at  the  beloved’s  door.  He  who  gives  all  passes 

100 


into  the  heart  of  Liluli:  it  is  the  nest.  Will  yon? 
Will  you?  Will  you  give  me  everything? 

ALTAIR 

I  will,  I  will.  ...  But  I  hare  nothin sr  to  give. 

LILULI 

Give  it!  It  is  just  that  nothing  that  I  want.  Your 
life.  Will  you  give  it  to  me,  say?  Will  you  suffer  for 
me,  say?  Say,  will  you  die? 

ALTAIR 

Yes,  yes,  suffer,  die.  .  .  .  O  deliciousness,  I  would 
that  my  blood  might  flow  like  wine  from  the  crushed 
grape  to  quench  your  thirst. 

LILULI 

Come  then,  for  I  am  thirsty  for  you.  It  will  be 
splendid.  .  .  .  Look!  .  .  .  Humanity  is  climbing  to¬ 
ward  the  light.  Golden  sunlight  bathes  the  peaks. 
To-morrow,  your  people  will  reach  them.  And  there 
stands  that  enemy  race,  daring  to  bar  your  road,  try¬ 
ing,  in  its  envy,  to  make  you  redescend  the  dreary 
road  of  night,  longing  to  wrest  from  you  Liluli.  De¬ 
fend  me!  Defend  the  light! 

ALTAIR  seizes  Liluli  in  his  arms 
and  lifts  her  up. 

Ah!  I  will  carry  you  in  my  hands  up  to  the 
heights.  And  though  the  whole  world  should  try  to 
prevent  me,  I  shall  pass  with  your  dear  golden  arms 
round  my  neck. 


101 


POLICHINELLO 

Take  care!  That’s  a  bad  way  of  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  stones  in  the  road !  Walking  with  a  girl  hang¬ 
ing  round  one’s  neck !  beware,  my  simpleton !  it  means 
you  don’t  see  farther  than  the  end  of  your  nose.  .  .  . 

LILULI 

You’ll  never  see  so  far.  Near  my  nose  lies  my 
mouth  and  my  kiss. 

POLICHINELLO 

I  lodge  elsewhere.  It  costs  too  much. 

LILULI 

It  only  costs  a  life.  Keep  your  own,  you  thief! 

POLICHINELLO 

The  grapes  are  too  green. 

ALTAIR 

Make  room  for  me,  brothers.  I  am  going  to  open 
up  your  road. 

He  steps  onto  the  bridge. 

THE  CROWD 

Take  care  you  don’t  fall! 

ALTAIR 

I’m  not  afraid.  I  am  sure  of  foot. 

He  stops  suddenly  with  an  ex¬ 
clamation  of  surprise. 

LILULI 

What  is  it,  my  love?  What’s  the  matter?  Why  do 
you  stop? 


ALTAIR 

Wait!  What  do  I  see?  There. Tl  .  0,  dear  God! 
it  is  he!  My  friend,  my  brother.  .  .  .  An  tares! 

ANTARES,  from  the  other  side. 

Altair ! 

THE  CROWD 

You’ll  fall!  Take  care! 

Altair  sets  Liluli  down  on  the 
bridge  and  holds  out  his  arms 
to  Antar&s,  who  stretches  out 
his  to  receive  him. 


LILULI  vexed. 

Am  I  too  heavy?  What  then?  Would  you  leave 
me  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge? 

103 


ALTAIR 

O,  my  friend] 

LILULI  takes  him  by  the  arm, 
pulls  his  hair,  pinches  Mm. 

Scatter-brain!  Impudent  sparrow!  Fickle  man! 
have  you  so  soon  forgotten  my  golden  arms  and  my 
kiss  ? 

ALTAIR  pushes  her  aside  impa¬ 
tiently. 

My  friend,  my  friend!  How  do  you  come  here? 
ANTARES 

I  am  with  my  people.  And  what  are  you  doing 
here? 

ALTAIR 

I  am  leading  mine  to  battle. 

ANTARES 

Whom  against? 

ALTAIR 

I’ve  quite  forgotten. 

LILULI  prompting  him. 

Against  these  people. 

ALTAIR 

That  means  against  him! 

LILULI 

What  matter? 

ALTAIR 

Ah!  You  don’t  know  what  he  is  to  me,  what  we 
are :  the  Twins !  Can  one  of  us  live  without  the  other  ? 
104 


He  was  my  companion,  my  brother;  he  shared  my 
young  dreams,  my  miseries,  my  joys,  my  heart,  suffer¬ 
ing  under  the  same  injustices,  drinking  intoxication 
from  the  same  hopes,  passing  the  nights  in  conquer¬ 
ing,  with  tears  and  laughter,  the  mystic  continent  of 
the  future.  We  love  one  another  with  chastity.  Our 
souls  were  wedded.  He  is  my  all,  he  is  my  own  self. 

LILULI 

And  what’s  left  for  me?  Is  this  the  way  you  love 
me? 

ALTAIR 

Ah,  Liluli,  forgive  me!  You  are  much  lovelier  and 
better  (or  much  worse;  there  are  moments  when  I 
don’t  know  which) — you  are  different;  and  that  is  why 
I  long  to  pluck  your  beauty.  But  he  and  I,  we  possess 
one  another,  we  are  the  same.  You  are  the  fruit  of 
the  Hesperides  and  we  are  the  Argonauts.  The  same 
ship  bears  us  toward  the  garden  of  the  golden  apples. 

LILULI 

None  the  less,  you  see  your  Twin  has  deserted  your 
ship,  left  you,  denied  you.  He  is  fighting  under  other 
flags.  Listen  to  him! 

ANTARES  seeing  Liluli,  calls  her. 

My  Liluli  ! 

ALTAIR 

Does  he  love  you? 

LILULI 

Yes,  he  is  betraying  you.  He  wants  to  ravish  me 
from  you. 


105 


ALTAIR 

But  you  love  me,  you  are  mine? 

LILULI 

I  belong  to  the  better  man,  the  more  valiant.  Come, 
brave  lads,  take  me! 

She  flies  away  and  perches  like 
a  bird  on  the  end  of  one  of  the 
beams  of  the  bridge,  over¬ 
hanging  the  ravine. 

A  NT  A  RES  runs  onto  bridge  to¬ 
ward  Liluli. 

Wait  for  me ! 

ALTAIR  barring  his  passage. 

She  is  mine! 

They  face  one  another  menac¬ 
ingly;  then,  suddenly,  their 
looks  grow  mild,  their  arms 
fall. 

ALTAIR 

Ah!  my  friend! 

ANTARES 

My  comrade! 

ALTAIR 

Dear  eyes,  dear  hands ! 

They  take  one  another’s  hands. 
ANTARES 

Dear  smile,  dear  memories ! 

ALTAIR 

How  I  burn  to  take  you  in  my  arms. 

They  look  at  one  another  a 
moment  longer,  and  embrace 
one  another  closely. 

106 


LILULI 

Clutch  him  then!  Strain  together.  Come,  little 
men,  strain  together;  come;  little  ones,  for  Liluli’s 
sake,  strangle  each  other.  Come,  my  pretty  boys,  each 
must  sacrifice  to  me  his  darling  friend.  For  your  Fa¬ 
therland  !  The  greater  the  sacrifice,  the  finer  it  is.  Yes, 
my  friends,  yes,  that’s  the  truth.  Go  on,  Antares,  Al- 
tair!  If  you  love  me,  offer  him  to  me.  Shame  on 
a  love  that  only  gives  what  it  doesn’t  want.  Courage ! 
.  .  .  And  then,  my  dear  little  friends,  think — it  is  an 
act  of  piety,  in  memory  of  the  pure  friend  cherished 
long  ago,  to  immolate  the  friend  of  to-day  who  de¬ 
forms  and  makes  vile  the  old.  Kill  one  another  then, 
out  of  pure  love,  kill  one  another !  come  now,  my  lit¬ 
tle  wolves,  come  on! 

Altair  and  Antares  have  come 
to  grips;  they  struggle  violently,  roll  on  the  bridge,  strike 
furiously  at  one  another  and  fall  back  senseless.  On  either 
side  the  crowd  calls  to  them  and  stirs  with  excitement. 
Laluli  comes,  flutters  above  them  and  drops  on  their  bodies 
autumn  leaves  of  red  and  gold. 

LILULI 

Sleep,  my  beloveds,  sleep!  Your  task  is  finished 
now.  Both  have  served  me  well.  Each  of  you 
sacrifices  more  than  his  life  for  me.  It  is  well,  it  is 
well:  yes,  it  is  thus  I  must  be  loved;  I  bless  you. 
Antares  is  dying.  My  Altair,  you  whom  I  loved  the 
better,  I  hear  you  sighing:  you  will  recover;  I  keep 
you  that  you  may  suffer.  Suffer,  die,  ye  who  loved 
me !  Poor  fools,  it  is  your  delight.  Men  do  not  know 
107 


how  to  enjoy  life  simply,  just  as  it  is.  I  have  to 
crucify  them,  my  lovers.  .  .  .  Come,  then,  all  of  you, 
little  children!  I  am  Illusion,  I  am  Dream!  Who¬ 
ever  loses  wins !  Whoever  would  win  me,  let  him  lose 
himself ! 

POLICHINELLO 

No  one  returns  to  make  complaint.  Come  on, 
children  of  Liluli ! 

THE  GALLIPOULETS 
Our  country  calls  us. 

THE  HURLUBERLOCHES 
Charge  for  our  country,  die  for  our  country! 

They  rush  on  to  the  bridge 
and  the  battle  is  joined.  Liluli 
soars  above  them  and  flies 
away. 

POLICHINELLO 

The  jade!  .  .  .  She  has  got  her  way!  .  .  .  She 
cares  for  nothing.  Nothing  can  keep  her.  She  be¬ 
longs  to  all  and  to  nobody.  But  she  has  turned  their 
brains  so  completely  inside  out  that  they  are  ready 
to  kill  one  another  for  love  of  her:  and  each  of  these 
fatheads  thinks  he’s  going  to  draw  the  winning  num¬ 
ber.  Take,  take  your  tickets!  Now,  gentlemen,  the 
tombola.  A  free  shave  to-morrow.  To-morrow  you 
win.  To-day  you  pay.  It  only  costs  your  skin! 

CHORUS  OF  INTELLECTUALS  in  doggerel 
ver  se.  They  chant  in  sprightly 
and  monotonous  tones,  beat¬ 
ing  time  with  their  whole  body. 

108 


Ah_,  isn’t  it  brave — to  go  down  to  the  grave — when 
one’s  quite  a  boy — one  gets  all  life’s  joy — and  none 
of  its  worries,  or  flurries,  or  scurries. — If  I  were  in 
— your  youthful  skin — how  gladly  I’d  battle — or 
gladlier  send — these  stupid  cattle — to  meet  their  end. 
— For  death  and  glory  I  thirst  and  hunger! — If 
only  I  were  twenty  years  younger! 

Meanwhile  the  two  peoples, 
after  exchanging  a  few  thumps,  have  retreated  to  the  en¬ 
trances  of  the  bridge  where  they  stand,  prudently  reviling 
one  another  and  shaking  their  fists. 

THE  INTELLECTUALS  from  the  van¬ 
tage-point  of  their  platform. 

But  they’re  not  advancing!  Let’s  die,  gentlemen, 
109 


die!  It's  the  happiest  of  fates!  Come  now,  let’s 
make  up  our  minds  to  it. 

THE  PEOPLE  provoking  one  an¬ 
other. 

Come  and  see!  ...  Just  wait  for  me!  Take  care 
of  yourself  if  I  move!  .  .  .  Don’t  dare  jostle  me! 

.  .  .  I  will  if  I  like!  .  .  .  Try,  then!  You  begin! 

.  .  .  No,  you  begin  first!  .  .  .  Crikey!  You've  trod¬ 
den  on  my  toe !  .  .  .  No,  no,  it  wasn’t  me ;  it  was  that 
chap  there,  behind  me — he  shoved  me.  .  .  .  Well, 
we’ll  say  nothing  about  it  this  time.  (I’ve  a  com 
that’s  crushed.)  But  if  you  do  it  again! 

THE  GRAND  DERVISH 

Nothing  will  come  of  this.  .  .  .  Despite  our  holy 
efforts  to  disgust  them  with  it,  these  common  people, 
my  word!  set  great  store  by  their  wretched  mortal 
bodies!  [To  the  Intellectuals.]  And  these  fellows  hold 
their  tongue  and  don’t  say  a  word!  .  .  .  Sing,  I  say, 
sing,  O  heroes  of  the  brain ! 

THE  INTELLECTUALS 

But  one  must  take  breath !  My  tongue  is  quite  sore 
with  singing.  What  a  trade !  We’re  exhausted.  Give 
us  a  drink!  It’s  too  hot.  .  .  .  And  to  tell  the  truth, 
I’d  rather  sing  another  tune:  I'm  not  Tyrtaeus.  The 
bugles  and  drums,  beaten  with  might  and  main,  to 
lead  to  the  fight  these  poor  dolts  fairly  burst  my  ears; 
I'd  rather  suck  at  the  whispering  flute  with  tip  of 
110 


tongue  or  else  the  rheumy  oboe.  For  the  poet  is 
made  to  celebrate  love  and  the  fields  and  peace. 

POLONIUS  rising  to  his  feet. 

The  traitors!  arrest  them! 

LILULI 

So  you’re  being  naughty,  my  little  lambs.  You 
won’t  stand  in  your  pretty  ribbons  and  bleat,  and  run 
with  a  skip  into  the  good  butcher’s  arms.  Baa,  baa, 
baa,  you’ll  bleat  and  skip:  we  shall  make  you  gambol 
right  enough.  Would  you  like  that?  I’ll  go  and  fetch 
the  dancing-master.  She  calls,  singing  like  a  bird. 

Lo,  lo,  i  .  .  .  Lo,  lo,  !  .  .  . 

Lop,  lop,  lop,  lop,  lop,  lop,  lop,  i*  .  .  . 

Lop,  l  .  .  .  Lop,  i  .  .  .  Lop,  i  ni !  .  .  • 

[Trill.] 

Ni-on,  ni-on-ni-on,  ni-on,  ni-on,  ni-on, 

Ni-ni-ni-ni  .  .  .  Non-ni! 

To  me,  to  me,  to  me,  to  me ! 

My  cousin,  cousin,  cousin!  .  .  . 

Here  the  song  becomes  speech. 

Here,  come  here.  My  cousin  Opinion!  Take  one 
spring  on  to  their  back.  Jab  your  bony  heel  into  the 
ass’s  flank!  He  will  trot  willingly — only  provided 
that  he  is  forced  to.  It  is  a  good  people,  that  pleases 
me  well;  I  make  it  swallow  anything  and  all.  But 
the  last  morsel  has  stuck  and  to  make  it  pass  you 
must  wash  it  down  with  a  bumper.  Look  at  them, 

111 


gaping-mouthed,  waiting  for  the  juice  of  the  heave*- 
ly  grape  to  run  to  the  bottom  of  their  throats !  So, 
broach  your  drink.  Drown  reason!  Opinion! 

Ni-on,  ni-on,  ni-on,  non-ni! 

To  me!  To  me! 

The  shriek  of  a  motor-car’s  siren  is  heard  far 
off  from  the  bottom  of  the  ravine.  This  shriek, 
shrill  as  a  saw  at  first,  then  swelling  very  rapidly, 
continuous,  frantic,  is  the  sonorous  axis  round  which  re¬ 
volves,  in  a  wheel  of  dust,  a  whirling  cloud  of  different 
noises:  shouts,  shrill  fifes,  savage  yelps,  drums  precipitously 
beaten  by  fevered  hands,  triangles,  bells  and  gongs. — The 
whole  crowd  on  the  stage  stands  still,  gaping,  and  makes  no 
further  movement,  as  though  hypnotized.  But  as  this  tor¬ 
nado  of  noise  approaches,  knees  are  seen  to  tremble  and 
teeth  to  chatter,  men  draw  back  heads  between  hunched 
shoulders  like  schoolboys  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  slap. 
Polichinello  subsides,  flattens  himself  out  in  a  hollow  be¬ 
hind  a  rock;  nothing  can  be  seen  of  him  except  the  hump 
on  his  back  which  surmounts  the  top.  Liluli  jumps  onto  a 
beam  of  the  bridge  near  the  entrance  and  stands  there  with 
legs  apart,  holding  out  her  arms  toward  the  new-comers, 
laughing  with  all  her  flashing  teeth. 

Bands  of  satyrs  and  gamboling  monkeys  burst  onto  the 
stage,  playing  on  penny  whistles  or  pan-pipes — a  strident 
tune,  jerky,  burlesque,  wild,  bouncing.  They  appear  from 
everywhere,  from  right  and  left,  from  above  and  below,  by 
all  the  paths  of  the  mountain  and  the  ravine,  on  this  and 
on  that  side  of  the  bridge.  They  are  of  all  colors,  copper 
red,  bronze  green,  iron  black,  glossy.  Troops  of  them, 
breathlessly  shouting.  In  an  instant  they  have  enveloped 
the  crowds  of  both  camps,  hemming  them  in  with  their  ver¬ 
tiginous  whirling.  Fresh  swarms  of  them  seem  to  be  con¬ 
tinually  appearing. 

Finally,  from  the  depths  of  the  abyss,  up  a  winding  road 
— its  siren  shrieking — arrives  a  fantastic  motor  made  of 
black  steel,  low  on  the  ground,  with  a  rhinoceros  horn  pro¬ 
jecting  at  the  prow.  Seated  on  a  high  throne  without  a 

112 


\ 


back,  like  a  Delphic  tripod,  her  legs  hanging  down,  is  a 
thrilling  apparition:  she  is  the  GODDESS  LLOP’IH.  She 
has  something  in  her  of  a  Hindoo  divinity,  something  of  the 
cadaverous  woman  with  uplifted  arms  in  Boecklin’s  Three 
Horsemen  in  his  picture  of  the  Apocalypse  at  Zurich.  Her 
eyes  are  haggard  and  glassy,  her  breasts  and  belly  nude. 
Over  the  steering  wheel  stoops  Diirer’s  Devil  [The  Knight 
and  Death],  wolf-toothed  and  ass-eared;  the  BEAST  who 
comes  from  the  depths  of  the  forest  of  Humanity  whither 
reason  has  driven  him,  but  who  watches  and  waits  for  his 
time.  [The  time  always  comes.] 

An  escort  of  mounted  Cossacks  lance  in  rest  or  knout 
raised. 

At  the  moment  when  the  din  reaches  its  summit  all  is 
still,  all  stop  suddenly — noises  and  motions.  The  apparition 

113 


stands  as  though  frozen.  The  Cossacks,  with  uplifted  arms, 
fixed  in  their  menace.  The  satyrs  and  apes  frozen  in  their 
gambols.  The  shattered  crowds  on  their  knees,  bent  backed, 
the  women  hiding  their  heads  under  their  lifted  petticoats. 
A  minute  of  absolute,  terrific  silence. — Then  the  goddess 
drops  her  arms  violently  to  her  sides;  the  horsemen  bring 
down  their  hands  and  crack  their  whips:  the  crowds  bound 
to  their  feet;  and  goaded  by  the  jostling  and  pinching  of 
the  apes,  all  rush  onto  the  bridge — from  both  sides  of  the 
bridge — uttering  a  ferocious  barking  in  which  there  is  noth¬ 
ing  human. 

Haouah!  .  .  . 

The  Gallipoulets  and  Hurluberloches  come  to  grips  in 
the  middle  of  the  bridge.  General  rough  and  tumble. 
While  the  front  ranks  are  toppling  into  the  ravine,  the  rest 
follow  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  In  the  foreground,  ranged 
in  front  of  the  motor,  now  facing  the  audience,  and  on  the 
prow  of  which  stands  Dtirer’s  Beast  leaning  forward,  his 
forefeet  planted  on  the  edge  like  a  gargoyle,  the  proces¬ 
sion  of  distinguished  Gallipoulets  files  past.  They  are  of 
all  ages  and  complexions,  all  heights  and  dimensions,  tied 
together  in  Indian  file  with  a  chain  round  their  necks.  They 
dance,  grimace,  shout,  wave  tomahawks,  under  the  orders 
of  an  enormous  negro,  clad  only  in  a  loin-cloth,  who  rolls 
his  eyes  and  dances  backwards,  keeping  his  face  to  the 
captives. 

THE  FETTERED  BRAINS  singing  and 
dancing. 

We  are  the  brains,  the  free  men,  characters  built  of 
tempered  steel,  proud  souls,  supple  and  firm  like  a 
Toledo  blade.  Always  faithful  to  the  man  who  holds 
us.  What  must  be  done  is  his  business.  We  do  not 
bother  about  anything.  He  who  holds  us  is  the  han¬ 
dle,  we  are  the  blade.  The  handle  changes,  the  blade 
remains.  Always  faithful  to  the  new  handle  as  long 
as  it  holds  us.  Hold  us  fast !  Always  ready  to  slash, 
114 


gash,  clip  or  emasculate  either  James  or  John  or  Zebe- 
dee.  For  we  are  of  pure  steel,  ready  to  strike  to  right 
or  left,  where  you  will.  Even  if  your  heart  smiles 
at  the  notion,  we  will  even  commit  hara-kiri. 

THE  NEGRO  stimulating  them. 

Up  there,  you  Brains!  Higher!  Higher!  Ho! 
Ho  !  Ho !  Ho  !  Ho !  Bend !  Jump  !  Turn !  Jump  !  Blow 
out  your  bellies !  Twist  your  haunches !  Mark  the 
beat  with  back  and  heel,  the  beat,  the  tango  beat! 
Kick  up  behind!  before!  Up  and  down!  High! 
Higher !  Higher ! 

THE  INTELLECTUALS  looking  down 
from  their  tribune. 

O  how  I  love  these  capers  and  dancing — these 
rhythmic  hops  and  cadenced  prancing, — the  move- 


115 


merits  of  free  men  advancing. — By  order  they  dance 
the  complex  figures: — then  both  to  white  and  sable 
niggers — all  honor  be!  All  honor  be — to  Pyrrhic 
steps  and  these  brave  minions — all  honor  to  the  he¬ 
roes  keen — lovers  of  our  august  queen — Opinion ! 


Battle  and  hubbub.  One  troop  of  Gallipoulets  breaks 
through  the  Hurluberloches  and  pursues  them  on  the  fur¬ 
ther  bridge.  Another  troop  of  Hurluberloches  breaks  through 
Gallipoulets  and  pursues  them  on  the  near  side  of  the  bridge. 
On  either  side  pursued  and  pursuers  climb  the  paths  above 
the  stage  on  the  left,  continuing  all  the  time  to  thump  one 
another  and  yell. — Meanwhile  the  Fettered  Brains  have  gone 
dancing  across  the  bridge,  passing  in  mid-bridge  another 
file  of  Fettered  Brains,  who  are  crossing  in  the  opposite  di¬ 
rection  and  who  come  dancing  over  t6  take  the  places  of  the 
first  troop. — During  this  time  the  Intellectuals,  having 
talked  well,  look  on,  rest  and  quench  their  thirst,  mopping 
their  foreheads  after  their  heroic  labor. — But  Diirer’s  Beast, 
who  has  got  down  from  the  motor,  slowly  walks  round  the 
Chorus  and  looks  at  them  with  a  chuckle.  No  more  is  need¬ 
ed  to  make  the  Intellectuals  hastily  go  back  to  their  places 
and  start  their  singing  again. 

The  stage  is  cleared  little  by  little.  The  combatants  have 
disappeared  in  the  upper  parts  of  the  mountain.  There 
only  remain  on  the  stage  the  motionless  car  of  the  petri¬ 
fied  goddess,  the  docile  chorus  of  Intellectuals  on  its  plat¬ 
form  and  the  two  files  of  Fettered  Brains,  dancing  in  the 
silence,  like  a  grotesque  frieze,  along  either  bank  of  the 
ravine — no  one  else. 

But,  yes;  over  there,  aloof  in  his  field,  is  Janot,  still  dig¬ 
ging  away.  Diirer’s  Beast  comes  and  sniffs  at  him.  Quiet¬ 
ly,  unhurriedly,  trotting  along  on  its  ass’s  feet,  it  goes  to 
him.  It  halts  a  couple  of  paces  away,  its  tongue  hanging 
out  like  a  wolf.  Janot,  whose  back  is  turned,  feels  its 
breath.  He  looks  up,  turns  round,  sees  the  motionless  Beast, 
drops  his  spade,  stands,  mouth  open,  arms  hanging  loose; 
then  hurriedly,  with  rounded  back  and  bent  head,  avoiding 

116 


a  look  at  the  Beast,  he  goes  to  his  browsing  ass,  slips  the 
bridle  round  its  neck,  mounts  and  makes  for  the  bridge. 

On  the  bridge  Janot  encounters  a  Hurluberlochian  San- 
cho,  a  pacific  and  ventripotent  personage,  straddling  a  mule. 
The  road  is  narrow;  there  is  only  room  for  one.  Neither 
one  has  the  slightest  wish  to  damage  the  other.  They  would 
be  ready  to  make  room,  and  are  indeed  already  being  polite 
to  one  another,  were  it  not  for  the  noisy  men  in  the  rear. 

JANOT  on  his  ass  and  HANSOT  on  his  mule.  (The 
four  beasts  meet  nose  to  nose.) 

Ho!  Ho! 

They  stand  at  a  halt,  per¬ 
plexed,  examining  one  another. 


Fine  day. 
Warm  day. 


HANSOT 

JANOT 

A  pause. 
HANSOT 


Well !  Good  morning  to  you. 


JANOT 

Good  day  to  yon,  then. 

A  pause.  They  look  at  one 
another,  laughing  foolishly. 

JANOT 

And  where  may  you  be  going  to? 

HANSOT 

Over  there.  I  was  taking  a  ride. 

JANOT  pointing  to  his  ass. 

I  was  giving  him  an  airing. 

?17 


He’s  handsome. 


HANSOT  politely. 


He  is  speaking  of  the  ass. 

JANOT  returning  the  compli¬ 
ment. 

He’s  fat. 

He  says  this  of  the  mule. 

HANSOT  squinting  in  the  direc¬ 
tion  of  the  torrent. 

It’s  deep  down  under  there. 

JANOT 

The  devil!  One  might  fall.  [Neither  dares  to  budge. 
A  pause.]  Perhaps  I’m  in  your  way?  Would  you  like 
to  get  past? 

HANSOT 

Not  at  all,  not  at  all;  it’s  my  fault.  .  .  .  Beg  par¬ 
don,  I’m  sure. 

JANOT 

We  ought  to  go  back. 

HANSOT 

We  ought.  .  .  .  Won’t  you? 

JANOT 

Won’t  you?  .  .  .  O,  me? — I’ve  got  plenty  of  time. 


HANSOT 


I’m  in  no  hurry. 

A  pause. 
JANOT 

Perhaps  we  might  both  go  back. 


118 


HANSOT 

Together.  Both  of  us.  .  .  .  That's  it.  .  .  .  Let’s 
go  back. 

THE  SPECTATORS  IN  THE  REAR  indignant 
exclamations  from  both  sides 
of  the  bridge. 

Janot!  Janot!  .  .  .  Hansot!  .  .  .  What  are  you 
doing,  you  wretch?  Don’t  give  way  an  inch!  .  .  . 
’s  blood;  man,  go  forward!  .  .  .  Janot;  think  of  your 
ancestors!  Hansot,  think  of  fame!  See,  she  smiles 
on  you!  .  .  .  Honor  demands  that  one  of  you  must 
have  the  other’s  skin.  .  .  .  Skin  him,  skin  him !  The 
skin!  His  skin!  Your  skin!  Scrag  him!  .  .  . 
Strike  away,  warriors,  on  your  chargers !  .  .  .  Gee 
up,  then!  on  with  you,  jackass!  .  .  .  Conquer  or  die! 
Magnificent  fate !  .  .  .  Die,  heroes ! 

The  Intellectuals  have  come  down  from  their  platform 
and  are  grouped  round  the  entrance  to  the  bridge,  blocking 
the  retreat.  The  Fettered  Brains  shove  on  either  side  and 
flog  the  two  palfreys  with  might  and  main.  Master-God, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bridge,  appears,  with  an  ineffable 
smile,  at  a  window  in  a  cloud.  Illusion  hovers  suspended 
above  the  bridge,  with  palms  and  a  trumpet.  And  Dlirer’s 
Devil,  having  scrambled  up  a  rock  overhanging  the  ravine, 
sits  gargoyle-wise  over  against  Master-God.  “Deux  au¬ 
gur  es  .  .  .”  Janot  and  Hansot  twist  their  necks  in  all  direc¬ 
tions  in  hope  of  finding  some  impossible  issue,  but  are  made 
to  start  back  every  time  by  some  exhortation  bursting  forth 
from  every  corner  of  the  earth  and  sky;  they  begin  at  last 
to  roll  their  eyes  and  affront  one  another  with  heroic  starts. 

JANOT 

That’s  enough  of  it  now.  Clear  out!  I’ve  seen 
you.  I’ve  had  my  bellyful  of  looking  at  you. 

119 


HANSOT 

It  gives  me  the  gripes,  it  does.  All  I  ask  is 
never  to  see  your  Lenten  face  again. 

JANOT 

Lenten  face?  .  .  .  Tripes!  .  .  .  Double  moon- 
face!  You  Shrove  Tuesday! 

HANSOT 

Stock-fish ! 

JANOT 

Haggis ! 

They  jostle  one  another  a  lit¬ 
tle. 

HANSOT 

Hi,  sir,  take  care;  take  care!  ...  A  little  more 
and  both  of  us  were  gone. 

JANOT 

Both?  .  .  .  Brrr! 

They  prudently  draw  apart; 
but  the  people  behind  push 
them  back. 

JANOT  in  a  lower  voice  to  Han- 
sot. 

Do  go  away! 

HANSOT  ditto. 

I’d  like  nothing  better. 

THE  FETTERED  BRAINS  flogging  the 
ass  and  mule  till  they  plunge. 

Forward ! 

120 


JANOT  AND  HANSOT  defending  them¬ 
selves  vainly  against  those  who 
push  them  on. 

But  it  isn’t  prudent! 

LILULI  amiably. 

Go  for  it,  nicely  and  gently ! 

THE  INTELLECTUALS  hurt. 

Is  it  going  to  come  off  to-day? 

121 


MASTER-GOD  consequentially. 

My  sons,  we’re  waiting  for  you.  Your  beds  are 
made. 


Where  ? 

In  Paradise. 


JANOT 

MASTER-GOD 

JANOT 


Thanks,  I  prefer  my  straw. 


LILULI  strewing  a  shower  of 
leaves  over  Janot  and  Hansot 
with  affected,  languishing,  sly 
gestures. 

And  here  is  laurel,  some  laurel,  laurel,  laurel  for 
your  pillows ! 

JANOT  AND  HANSOT 

Enough !  Enough ! 

LILULI 

Bay  leaves.  .  .  . 

JANOT 

Do  you  take  me  for  roast  game? 

The  Goddess  Opinion  (Llo- 
p’ih)  hitherto  impassive,  petrified,  makes  a  violent  gesture. 
The  siren  hoots.  All  start  and,  inspired  with  renewed  zeal, 
hurl  themselves  on  Janot  and  Hansot. 


ALL 

Get  on!  No  more  talking! 

THE  FETTERED  BRAINS 
Kill!  Kill!  Kill! 

LILULI  sounding  her  trumpet, 
charmingly. 

122 


I 


Tootle-te-tootle. 

Janot  and  Hansot  pushed  one 
against  the  other,  are  on  the 
brink  of  the  precipice. 

JANOT 

But  you  don’t  realize !  There’s  only  one  little  fool¬ 
ing  needed.  .  .  . 

LILULI 

All’s  well.  We’ve  two  fools  here. 

ALL 

Will  you  get  together? 


123 


LILULI 

Come  now;  jump,  Janot! 

ALL 

Jump!  Jump!  You  toad! 

HANSOT  pushing  Janot,  who 
pushes  back. 

Go  on,  they’re  calling  you ! 

JANOT 

You  pass  first! 

They  seize  and  thump  one  an¬ 
other. 

LILULI 

Don’t  stand  on  ceremony,  my  fine  fellows !  Pass 
abreast ! 

Janot  and  Hansot  tumble  fra¬ 
ternally  together — over  the 
bridge. 

THE  INTELLECTUALS  in  two  half¬ 
choruses  on  either  side  of  the 
ravine,  bend  forward  to  look. 

They  are  passing.  They  have  passed.  [All  together.] 
Oh,  what  an  epical  spectacle !  Down  they  roll,  they 
roll,  they  roll!  “A  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss.” 
God !  how  steep  !  An  avalanche !  A  glorious  chill  of 
an  heroic  sweat  moistens  me  all  up  my  back!  .  .  . 
Don’t  lean  over  too  far!  ...  In  profundis.  .  .  .  Sic 
transit.  .  .  .  [With  a  little  whistle.]  Whew !  They’re 
dead!  What  a  sublime  fate!  [Straightening  themselves 
up  pompously.]  Gentlemen,  they  live  in  us,  and  in  our 
memories.  Let’s  go  and  have  a  drink!  .  .  .  O,  my 
adorable  soul,  my  soul,  how  beautiful  you  are!  From 
124 


plagues  and  pests,  from  the  blows,  wounds,  bumps, 
thumps  and  death  of  other  people,  O  my  soul,  thou 
makest  thy  honey.  All  is,  and  all  has  ceased  to  be, 
in  order  that  thou  mavst  sing  of  it.  Peasants,  bleed 
and  die!  All  for  the  sake  of  my  song. — Happy 
mortals !  How  lucky  they  are !  .  .  .  O  my  soul,  I 
love  you!  Ever  purer,  ever  lovelier,  O  my  inspired 
soul,  fly,  fly  toward  Elysium !  .  .  .  [Changing  their 
tone.]  And  now  that  these  good  peoples  have  hob¬ 
nobbed  together,  come,  let  us  go,  let  us  rest  on  their 
laurels!  Up,  gentlemen,  let  us  mount  to  the  Capitol! 

LILULI 

Mount,  Capitoline  geese! 


THE  INTELLECTUALS 


Let  us  mount! 
Upward. 


THE  GODS 


Heroic  march. — Solemnly,  solemnly  they  wend  their  way 
up  the  mountain  path  in  single  file.  Liluli  walks  behind,  like 
a  goose-girl,  whipping  them  on  with  her  palm  branch.  All 
this  time  the  shouting  of  the  people  still  fighting  in  the  up¬ 
per  regions  of  the  mountain  can  be  heard. 

The  stage  is  slowly  cleared.  The  Intellectuals  and  Liluli 
vanish  at  the  turn  of  the  path.  Master-God  has  closed  his 
shutter  and  retired  behind  his  cloud.  Llop’ih  and  her  motor 
descend  once  more  into  the  abyss. 

In  the  shade  of  a  rock  Polichinello’s  hump  can  be  seen 
in  motion.  He  gets  up  cautiously,  twists  his  neck  in  all  di¬ 
rections  like  a  blackbird,  then,  reassured,  turns  toward  the 
audience  a  face  convulsed  with  dumb  laughter.  His  humps, 
his  cocked  hat,  his  nose,  his  chin,  all  laugh;  his  whole  body 
is  shaken  with  laughter;  but  not  a  sound  comes  out  of  him. 


125 


POLICHXNELLO  to  the  audience. 
They  haven’t  got  me.  Laughing  is  safe. 

A  frightful  din  is  heard;  it 
comes  tumbling  down  from 
above  like  a  cataract. 


POLICHINELLO 

Holy  Gum !  .  .  .  Down  they  come ! 

Everything  collapses  upon  him, 
the  fighting  people,  furniture,  crockery,  poultry,  stones, 


'126 


earth  and  all.  Polichinello  disappears  under  the  heap.  A 
cloud  of  dust  and  noise  envelops  the  scene. — On  top  of  the 
mound  sits  Liluli,  her  legs  crossed,  smiling  and  showing  her 
teeth  and  the  tip  of  her  tongue ;  laying  her  forefinger  to  her 
nose.  Sententiously  she  says: 

A  wise  man  has  said: 

“Wait,  ere  you  laugh  and  mock,  my  friend, 

At  fate,  until — The  End.” 


m 


THE  GETTY  CENTER 

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